Finding a Monster
by scarlet79
Summary: "We were looking for demons, me and Sammy, but what we found instead was a monster. And not the cool kind, like a vampire or a zombie, but a regular monster parading as a normal man." Written in Dean's voice, now rated M for adult situations, slightly AU!
1. Chapter 1

_AN: So, I think my ideas for "Careful Hands" have dried up for now. I just can't come up with anything more without it sounding redundant. Maybe in a while an idea will hit me, maybe not. _

_Anyway, the idea for this story hit me while I was washing dishes last night, and I had to hurry through the rest of my chores so that I could get to the PC and write it down before I forgot about it. I've been devouring murder-drama novels lately, and this kinda got jumbled around with the Winchester boys in my head...and so, voila! We have this story!_

_There may be grammatical errors, but that's because it's written from Dean's point of view, in his voice. And as we all know, he's not exactly Yale material. But that's okay, we still LOVE him!_

_Enjoy! Oh, and -_

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the OC in this story. All rights go to their respective owners, blah blah._

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

* * *

We were looking for demons, me and Sammy, but what we found instead was a monster. And not the cool kind, like a vampire or a zombie, but a regular monster parading as a normal man. We'd thought he was our ally, what with being a local cop and all, but in reality he'd been behind the deaths of three women, the same three murders we were currently investigating.

When we'd finally figured out we'd been tricked – which had been way too long after the fact, I might add – I drove the Impala right up to his front door, slammed out of the car, stomped up onto the porch and kicked the whole job in. My trusty shotgun, filled with real bullets instead of the rock salt it usually carried, was pointed right in the cop's face as he reclined on his blue La-Z-Boy, my finger twitching to pull the trigger.

"Dean," I heard Sammy say behind me, as if his voice alone could sway me from ending this guy's miserable life, but I just stood there, the muzzle of the gun mere centimeters from pressing against the cop's sweaty forehead.

"You lying sack of crap," I hissed at the seated man, my lips twisting in what I hoped was a terribly intimidating grimace. "It was you, all along."

Hopalong kept his gaze level with mine, but he grinned at me. "What did you think I would do, come right out and confess? Pretty naïve, if you ask me."

"No," I replied, ignoring the fact that Sam was slowly sidling up to me, as if anyone with a frame as large as his could go unnoticed. "I just don't get one thing. Why did you need to kill them?"

"Because," Mr. Craptastic shrugged, "I wanted to."

I have to admit, that reply kind of startled me. I'd expected some drivel about his childhood, about how his mother always belittled him and made him feel inferior, so by killing women, he was getting a sort of twisted payback on her.

I wasn't ready for this, and he knew it. He took the opportunity to lift his hand and push the barrel of the shotgun down about a foot, so that it now pointed at his chest. That was fine with me. I could empty a bullet into his chest just as well as I could in his head. Made no difference to me.

Smiling in that creepy way again, he asked, "Haven't you ever done something just because you could?"

I started to shake my head, but then stopped. That would have been a lie, and though he would never have known the truth, I would have.

And so would Sam.

"Maybe," I admitted, then scowled. "But I'm not the one running around torturing and killing women. That's your bit."

"So then, what're you waiting for? Pull the damned trigger and get it over with."

For the first time, I acknowledged Sam's presence. A quick glance over to him had him shaking his head, which only pissed me off more. I wanted this guy dead for what he'd done. I knew where his soul would go when his body died - because I'd been there already - and I could almost taste my own longing for his eternal suffering. I wanted to know that he was facing his consequences, that his sins were being taken out of his flesh, one bit at a time.

Hey, I never said I was a healthy person.

In the end, I simply turned the shotgun around and slammed the butt of it into his face until he was both unconscious and bleeding heavily. When I was sure he wouldn't get up and take a chunk out of my calf with a butcher knife, I turned to leave the house, but Sam suddenly stopped in the middle of the room and said, "Dean? You hear that?"

"No. Hear what?" I asked, only to be shushed by him. I hated when he did that.

"Listen," he instructed, his head already cocked to one side. He looked – and I say this lovingly – like a dog listening intently to some tiny sound only they can hear.

Sighing inwardly, I too strained my ears and listened. I was about to tell him that we were wasting time, when a small cry made its way to us. It sounded like it came from below us.

"This place have a basement?" I asked him then.

Sam shook his head. "I didn't see any windows or anything. But it could be more like a root cellar."

The sound was slightly louder now, more desperate, as if whoever or whatever was making it realized that they'd been heard. It was accompanied now by a dull thudding noise. I thought it kind of sounded like a heartbeat. A sickly and distant one, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

Sam and I rushed through the small house, searching for a way downstairs, but there were no hidden traps in the floor, no ladders into a secret basement. We continued our search outside, Sam running to the left side of the house and me to the right, but in the end it was Sam who found the cellar doors hidden by a pile of wood scraps and weighted down by a pallet's-worth of bags of cement. The cries were louder still here, and I could tell now that they were coming from a female. She sounded terrified, and I couldn't really blame her. It was dark out here in the middle of the woods, and probably even more so in the cellar, where there were no windows, no place for the moonlight to shine through to her.

"We're coming!" I shouted through the slats of the doors as we tore through the piles of bags, some of them tearing open under our frenzied hands and spilling through the cracks, the dew wetting it just enough to stick to our fingers. I sincerely hoped all of it would wash off later.

"Dean, hurry," Sam urged me, still yanking fistfuls of rotting wood away, ignoring the large splinter he'd gotten embedded in his palm. I wanted to shout at him to shut up, that I was working as fast as I could, but I just gritted my teeth and kept going. The girl's sobbing was getting more hysterical, as if she were sure that any moment her captor would burst through some hidden door and grab her. I could feel her terror as if it were mine, and so rather than cursing at my giant brother I dug through the debris until I reached the peeling painted wood of the cellar doors.

There was a chain around the handles, and a padlock holding it fast.

Of course.

I chanced a look at Sam and he stared back at me, his best wounded-puppy look on his face.

"Dean," he almost whined, as if it being locked was somehow my fault. I huffed and reached for my trusty shotgun, but it wasn't where I had left it, on the ground close by. I turned quickly and soon found it in the extremely incapable hands of the cop whose face I had nearly bashed in ten minutes earlier. His nose was still bleeding, fresh red spilling down the front of his white starched shirt, and there was something very wrong with his left eye. When he grinned, I saw that he'd lost a tooth, and for some reason it was this that nearly made me puke up the hamburger I'd eaten for dinner. As it was, I managed to hold down my meal, and helplessly raised my hands.

"You're...not...taking her," Barney Fife haltingly said, his finger reaching for the trigger. But before he could fire my own shotgun at me, a bullet hole appeared in his chest, followed by two more. The cop looked down in surprise, and then sank to his knees. I kinda felt for the bastard; I was just as surprised as he was. Then, his gaze flicked up and behind me, and a knowing look entered his good eye just before he pitched forward, exhaling his last breath into the wet grass. I looked over my shoulder and saw what had surprised the man – Sam was standing there with a gun in his hand, his arm still outstretched toward where the cop had stood. When he realized what he'd done, he blinked and lowered the gun, and for a moment I worried that he would cry. But my worry was in vain; he simply shrugged at me and then turned back to our former task of freeing the woman in the cellar.

Had it been a few years earlier, I might have been disturbed by this, but as it was, I was simply grateful that he had been there. If he hadn't, I'd have been Swiss cheese.

Without uttering a word, I swept him back a few steps with my arm even as I leveled the shotgun at the padlock. There was a loud crack as the bullet fired from the gun and tore through the metal lock, splintering the door beneath it, and then we made quick work of unthreading the chain from the door handles. As Sam reached down and flung the doors wide open, I flicked on my flashlight and shined it into the cellar. Leading down from the opening was a set of steep stairs, concrete by the looks of them, and recently constructed. The rest of the cellar was unremarkable as basements go – the floor was hard-packed dirt, the walls even harder-packed dirt – except for the girl chained in the far corner.

She was standing against the wall, her arms chained above her head. Her clothes were filthy and torn, her dark hair a rat's nest of tangles, but I could tell that had it not been so dirty and snarled, it would have curled into neat waves around her shoulders. Her feet were bare, and bruises covered her legs.

"Please," she begged me as she pulled as tightly into the corner as she could, "please..."

"We're not here to hurt you," I assured her, my hands held up, palms out in a non-threatening gesture. "We're gonna get you out of here."

She studied me for a minute, or at least that's what I guessed she was doing, as it was fairly dark in her corner and she stayed quiet. I could've shone my light on her, but I figured that might freak her out, as she probably wasn't used to something so bright in who-knows-how-long.

"What's your name?" I asked, chancing a step further toward her. I stopped when she started to pull away again, chains rattling as her arms jerked back.

"Callie. Callie Hartland," she whispered, and I nodded enthusiastically, as if her name were the best thing I'd ever heard in my life.

"Okay, Callie. I'm gonna get these chains off you, but you've gotta trust me. Okay?"

I had finally reached the space directly in front of her, and now I could see in the subdued beam of my flashlight that her eyes were gray-green, like the ocean during a storm. She nodded at me, silent tears streaking through her dirt-caked face. I noticed the finger marks around her throat, but made no comment about them.

"Okay," she replied.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, I aimed my light at the chains holding her wrists. They were regular police-issue handcuffs, but they'd been strung through a metal hoop in the ceiling. Muttering a curse under my breath, I dug into my pockets for something to pick the lock, but came up empty. I started to cross the floor to call up to Sam, but Callie shrieked in distress, and I turned back.

"Please don't leave me!" She wailed. "Please!"

"I'm not leaving," I promised, my voice more gruff than even I liked. I'm sure she was comforted by my growled statement. I know I would be. "I just gotta get my brother down here to help."

Something sparked in her when I mentioned Sam. "What's his name?" she asked, suddenly sounding much younger than the twenty-five that I knew she was. I knew, because we'd been aware of her disappearance since before our arrival in town. Her kidnapping had been the lead we'd followed here. In fact, I knew that Callie was short for Calista, but according to her friend, she hated her full name and used "Callie" almost exclusively.

I grinned and replied, "Sammy."

That seemed to pacify her, because she only nodded and then leaned her head back against the dirt wall, waiting. I turned back to the stairs again and called up, "Hey, Sam?"

His head appeared immediately to the side of the cellar's opening. "Yeah?"

"You got your lock-pick on you?"

Sam nodded, already making his way around to the front of the doors so he could join me downstairs. He had to duck to clear the opening, his body hunched like Igor as he carefully descended the steps, and when he had reached the bottom, his hair just lightly brushed at the cobwebs on the ceiling. I suppressed a shudder at the thought of spiders crawling on his head and down his shirt, and led him over to where Callie had been kept. As I shone the light on the handcuffs, Sam reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved his lockpicking set. He paused to search for the correct size, then slid a slim metal pick out of the packet and deftly jimmied it into the cuffs' mechanism. A few moments later, the left cuff sprang open, and I gently took her wrist in my hands and rubbed it to get the blood flowing back into it. The right one followed only seconds later, and then she collapsed against me, her tears once more set loose, like a dam within her had broken. I silently wondered what else had been broken, and whether I could still break something on the now-dead cop lying in the dirt above us.

"I'll get a blanket from the car," Sam offered, his feet already moving toward the stairs. I nodded gratefully. Sometimes that boy was a huge blessing.

By the time Sam had returned, Callie and I had reached the top of the stairs. We all walked around to the front of the house, Sam once again coming through by using his hulking frame to hide the cop's body from her sight. I helped Callie sit down on the ground, figuring that since she was already dirty, a little more couldn't hurt. She was still trembling, though whether it was from the cold, lack of proper food and water, or her fear, I couldn't tell – and really, it didn't matter either way. Taking the blanket from Sam, I wrapped it around her shoulders, then held it in place with my arm. Callie leaned against my shoulder, exhausted, though her eyes never once drooped closed. She had been rescued, but she was no dummy; she knew that just because she was safe from one monster, that didn't mean that there weren't more monsters out there, waiting. I don't think she was fully convinced that we weren't monsters yet, either.

"We should call someone," Sam submitted then, his voice quiet, his eyes cast down at the ground.

"Like who?" I asked, just as quietly. "If that cop was dirty, then his whole station probably is, too."

"Then we go to the State Troopers."

"Sam..." I began, ready for a lengthy argument about the merits and faults of the Ohio State Police, but my brother shook his head.

"One call, Dean. From a pay phone. No one has to even know it's us."

"And what about Callie?" I asked as if she weren't sitting right there with my arm around her. "We can't just dump her at the hospital and leave."

Sam nodded. "Okay. So we call and wait for them to show up."

"And what if they recognize us?" I was still feeling bitter about that whole Doppleganger situation. No one pretends to be me and robs banks, killing innocent people along the way. That's like, the definition of being a dick. "I really don't wanna see the inside of another jail. Ever."

Sam sighed, and I recognized the sound of his patience reaching the end. "Dean, we can't just leave things the way they are now. Callie needs medical attention and protection, and no matter how you may feel about him, Deputy Warren's body needs to be dealt with properly."

_Warren!_ My brain shouted in recognition. Why couldn't I remember the guy's name? It wasn't hard to pronounce or spell, so why did it keep slipping from my mind?

I thought about what Sam had said for a moment, and then reluctantly nodded. For once, the younger brother had the advantage here. Sam, 1; Dean 0. "Fine," I conceded. "Make the call."

* * *

I lazed on the bed in our "cozy" motel room, watching Sammy flip through a worn magazine, his eyes sliding across the page only to return to the beginning again. I was beginning to think that he really wasn't reading anything – that he was only pretending in order to keep himself, and me, occupied. The shower was running in the bathroom, the steam escaping into the main room in wisps that resembled smoke from an old man's pipe. Callie was in there, washing the grime of her imprisonment down the drain. Everything had gone swimmingly with the State Troopers who'd arrived – Sam and I, in our usual Federal Agent personas, had given our statements. They'd collected evidence, and Callie got a cursory exam by EMTs before being shuttled to the hospital for routine tests. I had volunteered to go with her in the ambulance, but she had shyly said that she preferred Sam to ride with her instead, and I'd let the subject drop. Let Mr. Empathy go with her; I'd be perfectly happy following the Troopers around the crime scene, filling in the gaps in my information with any important discoveries there.

Just as I was about to comment about the length of time the water had been running and whether the motel would charge us extra, I could hear the squeak of the shower's faucet handles, and the water slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether. Sam also noticed the change, and lifted his gaze to raise an eyebrow at me. I knew what that look meant – he had been thinking the same thoughts I had – and I smiled.

All was quiet inside the bathroom now, and for a moment my smile faltered as I worried that something had happened. My heart ratcheted up to a painful thudding as something glass shattered, and then Callie screamed at the top of her lungs. Sam and I both bolted from our respective beds, but being smaller, I made it to the bathroom first. Shoving the door open, I slid inside. The mirror was broken, shards of its glassy surface littering the tiled floor, and Callie was crouched against the back wall of the shower, her towel wrapped around her torso, the end of it tucked between her cleavage. She held her hands away from her body as they dripped blood down her wrists and she was still screaming, but when she saw me standing there she suddenly stopped, her mouth closing with an audible snap. Sam was behind me, and I could tell from the way he was breathing that he was taking in the scene with his eyes about to fall out of his head. He was never good with blood, and it seemed like every surface in the bathroom was covered with it.

"What happened?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. She had seen something in the mirror, something of her self that she didn't like, and had punched the mirror with her fists until it shattered, cutting the delicate skin of her fingers open on its sharp edges.

"Callie," I said, coming toward her, trying to be as calm and unintimidating as possible, "it's okay."

"It's not me," she said quietly, her lip quivering, and I nodded in understanding, which was pure crap. I didn't understand what she was feeling any more than I understood quantum physics, which, by the way, I'm still not even sure really exists.

"Let's get you cleaned up," I offered, holding my hands out to her. Callie took them, grimacing as she noticed the sticky blood as if for the first time, but I made no sign that I had noticed, instead gripping her fingers and waiting patiently for her to step over the edge of the bathtub. Sam, meanwhile, had gone out to the Impala and grabbed the emergency medical supplies from the trunk, and when we stepped out into the main room he snaked around us and started cleaning up the mess we'd left behind. Once again, I found myself thanking God for my brother. He could be a pain sometimes, but he knew what needed to be done and often set about doing it without being asked, and that was – pardon the pun – a giant help.

I gestured for Callie to sit on the end of my bed and pulled open the med kit, grabbing out bandages and peroxide, as well as tweezers, scissors, and a needle and thread. All these I lined up on the bed, then quickly slipped into the bathroom to swipe the washcloth. Sam had already gotten most of the broken mirror cleaned up, and was now working on sponging the blood off the walls and floor. I gave him an encouraging word or two, which he returned with a sarcastic grin, and then went back to Callie.

"I'm sorry," she finally said as I was just finishing bandaging her hands up. "I'll pay for the mirror."

I shook my head. "It's fine. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters."

She looked at me in surprise, then cast her eyes down, as if she wanted to say something but was afraid to. I knelt in front of her, my hands on either side of her face, and gazed up at her. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, and that lip trembled again. It should have frustrated me, that tremble, a sign of weakness, but I found myself wishing I could do something to make her smile instead. Maybe I was spending too much time with Sam, I thought.

Speaking of Sam, he leaned against the door frame, his arms folded as he listened to Callie speak. "He – " she shook her head and started again. Her words were slow at first, but as she kept going they gained momentum, spilling out so fast that I had to pay close attention to understand her. "Warren...grabbed me when I was out for a run. I always took the same path, and it was out in the open, so I thought nothing would happen. But he grabbed me anyway, in broad daylight, and locked me down in that celler. He did...things to me. And he made me do things to him. I didn't want to, but he choked me so hard one time that I passed out, and when I woke up I threw up and then he punched me and said that if I didn't do as he said he would kill me and find my family and kill all of them, too. I have two little sisters, and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to them, so I did what he wanted. I cried the whole time, but he just laughed and said I was the best he ever had. Better even than Lucy Howard, and she was easy, he said."

I was horrified, to say the least, but I like to think I hid it well. I'd had a good idea of what the "things" were that Warren had done to the women he'd taken and later killed, but hearing it from Callie's mouth made it somehow more real, and it made me sick to know that she had gone through such terrifying stuff. No wonder she'd bashed in the mirror. I couldn't blame her one bit, and if I'd known that she had been down in the cellar while I was holding my gun to Warren's head, I would've cut him open a few times first, made him bleed almost to death before shooting him down like a rabid dog.

I shot a glance at my bro and noticed that the wounded look was back. His jaw worked silently, and I knew that he was fighting tears. Anyone else looking like that, I would've called them a sissy, but Sam was different. He felt things no one else could, and so I cut him a break every now and then. Looking back at Callie, I saw that she had already lost her battle; tears tracked down both cheeks to fall onto the bare skin of her chest, and I nearly face-palmed. I'd forgotten that she hadn't yet dressed.

My hands still pressed to her face, I stood up and then sat on the bed beside her. "Callie, nothing that happened was your fault. He forced you to do those things. That's all."

"Then why do I still feel so dirty?" She asked, her voice high-pitched again, as it had when we'd first found her. I shook my head sadly, then pulled her against my chest. She went willingly enough, but her shoulders remained tensed. That was okay – I could recognize a fear response when I saw it.

"It's natural to feel that way. But when you understand that you were a victim and not a willing participant, it'll fade away."

Now, Sam stepped forward and crouched where I had been, his large hands on her knees for balance. "No one blames you for anything, Callie," he said, his voice soft, and I envied the ease with which he could calm someone. It came as naturally as breathing to him, while I had to stop and think about what to say beforehand, just so I wouldn't make a smart remark and upset them.

She gazed back at him, her hazel eyes studying his face, and then she nodded. "I know." Then, looking at both of us, she said, "Thank you."

I grinned. "You're welcome."

She rested against me for another few moments, and I was about to ask her if she wanted to get dressed when I saw Sam smile softly and quietly stand up. Puzzled, I shifted slightly and noticed that Callie had fallen asleep, her cheek resting lightly on my shoulder. Slowly, I eased her back onto the bed and pulled her feet up off the floor, while Sam tugged the covers from his bed and laid them over her. She sighed and shifted onto her side, curling her hands under her damp hair, and Sam and I couldn't resist sharing a grin.

"She'll be okay," Sam told me, even though I already knew that myself. Instead of pointing that fact out, I nodded.

"We did good, Sammy."


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Sorry, I forgot to add the "TBC" on the bottom of the last chapter! I was in such a hurry to put it up here! LOL anyway, here's chapter 2!_

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 2

* * *

I was sleeping in the chair beside the window, as Callie was still sprawled on top of my bed, but I didn't really mind. My neck did kinda hurt, but I'd live with it as there was no way in hell I was gonna share a bed with my Sasquatch of a brother. We got enough gay jokes as it was.

I really wasn't sleeping, anyway. It was more drifting in and out of consciousness, as each time I dropped off to sleep I was awakened by the occupant of either bed. First it was Sam, letting loose with a couple of choice curse words. I didn't even know he knew those words, until he started muttering them into his pillow. I stifled a chuckle at the way he said the f-word, and tried to get comfortable again. Unfortunately, that was the same moment that Callie had decided to start whimpering in her sleep, her dark head whipping back and forth. I debated whether I should try to wake her, and then went with leaving her alone. I thought that waking her might be like waking a sleepwalker – she might think that I was the one trying to hurt her and lash out at me. I've seen her fingernails and trust me, I would rather not have those claws raked down my face, thank you.

After another hour, during which I oscillated between contemplating digging my eyes out with my own fingers or beating both of my roommates to death, I finally got up and slipped outside to the parking lot. The air out there was cooler, almost cold enough to raise goosebumps. The moon was high and bright in the sky, and I suddenly felt angry at it as well, as its light seemed somehow...happy...to me. How could it be so happy, when I felt so miserable? I was exhausted, so tired I might as well have been dead on my feet, and there the moon was, winking its white reflection of the sun's rays down at me. I wished that I could shoot it with a slug from my shotgun, like in the cartoons Sammy and I used to watch when we were little.

Curling my lip at the moon, I turned away and headed to the motel's lobby for a can of soda from the vending machine. The inside of the lobby was just as brightly lit, so much neon that I thought we'd taken a wrong turn and ended up in Vegas, and I groaned inwardly. This being a seedy motel at best, I'd been expecting a dark lobby, with maybe a fuzzy TV in the corner and a pile of decades-old car mags on the table.

Shaking my head, I found the soda machine and walked over to it, my hands jammed deep in my pockets as I searched for enough change. As I pulled various quarters and nickels out, I noticed that the "sold out" lights for each flavor were glaring at me, and I dropped my head back against my shoulders and stifled the urge to put my fists through the machine's plastic front. _What did I do to deserve this?_ I asked myself. _What kind of messed up test is this, anyway?_

A door opened somewhere nearby, and then there was a woman standing on my left, her blue eyes wide, the red lipstick she'd been wearing almost completely rubbed off. I recognized her as the same woman who'd been at the front desk when we'd checked in, and managed to give her what passed for my friendly smile.

"You want a Coke?" She asked, her voice gritty with sleep, or maybe want of sleep. I knew how she felt.

I nodded, though right then what I really wanted was quite a bit stronger than cola. She held out her hand, palm up. "Gimme your change."

I hesitated for a moment, but then dumped the pile of silver coins into her waiting hand. She looked down at them, sorted out a dollar and fifty cents, and then stuck them one at a time into the machine. I considered telling her that the machine was all out, but the frown on her face changed my mind, so I simply stood behind her, my arms crossed over my chest. When the last coin had been fed into the machine, she pressed the button for a Coke. Again, I thought of stating the obvious, but a moment later she reached over and slammed the side of the machine, and a can of soda came tumbling down into the slot.

"How...?" I asked, my arms dropping to my sides as she bent down and retrieved my drink.

As I took it from her, she smiled, showing straight white teeth. Weird, considering that she smoked like a chimney, and as a matter of fact was now holding a lit cigarette between her fingers. "Damned thing's been broken for years, but I got no money to have it fixed. Coke's the only kind in there, anyway."

I popped the tab on the can, sighing at the sound of the fizz escaping. "Thanks," I told her just before taking a swig.

She smiled back at me and was about to reply, when a sudden commotion came from the direction of my room. I bolted immediately, the Coke sloshing out of the can as I rushed back into the parking lot and down to our door.

When I burst in our room, I found Sam down on his knees in front of the bed, his hand stretched out underneath it. Callie was nowhere in sight. When he saw me standing there, fizzy sticky Coke dripping down my hand and the front of my shirt, he scowled darkly and asked, "Where the hell'd you go, Dean?"

His tone irritated me, and I slammed my now half-empty can onto the table beside the door. "I got up to get a pop. That a crime all of a sudden?"

"No, but..." he stopped, realizing then that there really was nothing to blame me for.

"Where's Callie?" I asked then, searching the room for a sign of her.

"Under the bed," he replied, his eyes daring me to challenge his statement.

True to form, I huffed in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me. I woke up to her screaming her head off and got up to see what was wrong. She freaked out, punched me in the _face_," he gestured toward his nose to emphasize, "and scooted under the bed. She won't come out."

Still unsure that I believed him, I joined him on the floor and peered under the bed. Sure enough, Callie was curled up against the wall, as far from either side of the bed as she could get. Her legs and arms were all twined up together in a ball, and her hair hid her face from our sight. _I'll be damned,_ I thought, _there she was._

Aloud, I said, "Callie."

"Go away!" She shrieked at me from behind her curtain of hair.

"Callie, it's okay. It's us, Dean and Sam."

Now, she jerked her head up to stare at me, narrowly missing clocking herself against the wooden bed frame. "You left!" she accused, her eyes slitted at me. "It was so dark and quiet and when I called for you, you weren't there."

"I'm sorry," I said, though only half of me actually was. The other half was still thirsty and tired. "It's all right now. I'm here."

She nodded, but stayed put. I stretched toward her, my hand mere inches away from brushing her skin. "Callie, come on out."

"No."

Startled by her reaction, I stuttered, "Uh. I'm...No?"

"No."

"Callie..."

"No. Leave me alone."

I snapped. I know I was wrong to do it, but I was just so tired. "Callie, stop screwing around and get your ass out here right now!"

"Dean!" Sam cried, surprised at me. "Don't yell at her."

"Stay out of this, Sam!" I shouted at him. I could almost hear his teeth grinding at that, but I was too angry to care right then. Looking back at Callie, I pushed myself as far under the bed as I could and grabbed for her. I caught the edge of the blanket she was wrapped in, and yanked her toward me. She yelped like an wounded animal and tried to scramble away, but I was stronger.

"Dean, stop!" Sam begged again, but I just clenched my jaw and pulled harder on the blanket.

I had just about pulled her free of the bed when Sam's hand clamped onto my wrist, and his fingers squeezed the bundle of nerves at the base of my thumb. I involuntarily loosened my grip, giving Callie a moment to escape from me. A frustrated growl tore through me, and I glared at my brother.

"What the hell are you doing, Sam?" I demanded to know.

"You're scaring her, Dean!" He shouted back, his scowl darker than I'd ever seen. "You're scaring both of us."

"What do you expect me to do? She can't stay under there all night!"

Sam shook his head. "You don't have to treat her like that."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from muttering the longest string of curses known to man, and plunked my ass down in the chair I'd formerly occupied. I caught sight of my Coke sitting there and took a healthy swig from it, then held it between my palms as I watched Sam make an absolute idiot of himself.

He was lying flat on the floor, his hand once more stretched out toward Callie's trembling form. I started to feel bad for that, as I had been the main cause of it. "Callie," he said softly, "we're sorry we scared you. I promise, we won't hurt you."

"He hates me," she wailed from her hiding spot, and my guilt upped a notch.

"No," Sam assured her even as he turned back to glare at me, "he doesn't. He's just being mean 'cause he's tired. Please, come out?"

A moment passed, and then he said, "If you're too scared, you could just hold my hand."

Callie's hand slowly reached out from under the bed to cover Sam's, and I felt my gut twist painfully as remorse washed over me. I'd been such an ass. I wouldn't be surprised if she never forgave me for treating her like I had. I wasn't sure I would forgive myself.

After a while, she finally crawled out. Sam found her the clean clothes we'd bought her from WalMart and led her to the bathroom, his hands protectively covering her shoulders as they went. As he passed me he frowned angrily, and I felt a tiny dagger of ice pierce my heart. I knew he was mad at me, possibly madder than he'd ever been, and for once he was right to be.

When Callie was safely inside the bathroom – which Sam had carefully cleared of anything sharp or fragile – my younger brother turned to me and folded his arms. I watched his eyes for a moment, and then uttered a long sigh.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I don't know why I acted that way."

"Don't bother apologizing to me. It's Callie you should be saying sorry to."

"I know." Why, all of a sudden, did I feel like the younger of us two?

"I know your people-skills are rusty; after all, we deal with inhuman spirits and beings more than we do people. But she's been through some rough stuff, and dragging her out from under a bed isn't gonna make her trust us anytime soon."

_Way to twist the knife, Sam,_ I thought.

"I _know_," I said, more frustrated at myself than at his Basil Exposition-type lecture. "She's just got such a stubborn streak in her..."

At this, Sam chuckled. "Kinda like someone I know?"

I smirked sarcastically, but continued on. "You're so much better at this than I am, Sam. I get lost as soon as the tears start."

Sam nodded. A huge sigh escaped him, and he leaned against the wall, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes. "I think you're better at comforting victims than you realize."

"Uh, I'm sorry," I replied, "were you not in the room a few minutes ago? I almost made a basket case out of that girl."

"Key word – almost."

Frustrated, I stood up and paced, then sat down on the bed instead. "Sam, let's be real, okay? I suck at being a real, normal person. I'm too much like Dad."

Sam winced at the mention of our father. He always did. It was like a nervous tic. "No, you're not, Dean. Don't say that."

I opened my mouth to say more, but something in Sam's eyes stopped me. They had often butted heads, Sam and Dad, but that didn't mean that Sam didn't miss him. I missed him, too. Dad might be in Heaven, but living without him down here was hell. For both of us.

"Just," Sam was saying then, "try harder. Okay?"

I nodded sedately. "Okay."

Callie slunk out of the bathroom then, dressed in a black tank top and a pair of jeans. She was carrying the belt we'd bought in her hands, as she hadn't needed it after all. I'd told Sam as much as he was tossing it in our shopping basket, but did he listen? Of course not.

She was twisting her hands together, her fingers twining nervously, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. Now that she was all cleaned up, her bruises covered, she was fairly pretty. Not supermodel pretty, but girl-next-door pretty.

"Do either of you have a brush?" She asked us. "My hair's all tangled."

I looked pointedly at Sam. I'd wanted to pick up a hairbrush for her earlier at the store, but he'd vetoed it. I don't even remember what his reasoning had been, but I know for sure that it hadn't made any sense.

"Uh," I began, "sadly, I don't. I _do_ have a comb you could use, though."

With that, I stood up and walked over to my leather jacket. I slipped the comb I carried out of the breast pocket and handed it to her, and she took it with a quiet, "Thanks."

Sam and I sat in awkward silence as she attacked her locks with the comb, uttering small cries as the teeth caught in each snarl, yanking her head hard to the side. When tears sprang to her eyes, I held out my hand to her and said, "Let me help."

She cautiously handed me the comb and sat on the very edge of the bed, careful to avoid contact with more of me than was necessary, and I felt another twinge of guilt. I had made her afraid of me. Still, she was willing enough to let me comb her hair, so she must have trusted me a little. Sam was watching us with amusement, but after a roll of my eyes he made an excuse about finding more towels and left the room.

Callie's hair was soft in my hands, even with all the tangles, and it smelled of the overly-perfumed motel shampoo, something with jasmine or lotus or something. I slowly ran the comb through her hair from her scalp down to her shoulders, moving carefully in case I hit a snarl. When I found one, I held the lock of hair in one hand and used the other to gently untangle the knot with the comb. We sat like that for quite a while, neither one of us talking, and I have to admit that the motion of combing her hair was calming, for both of us.

I was almost half done when she finally spoke.

"I'm sorry I didn't come out when you asked."

_Lady,_ I thought,_ you're killin' me._

I laid the comb on the bed and rubbed a thumb across my forehead. "Look, I'm the one who should be sorry, Callie. I shouldn't have tried to drag you out here. I scared you, and that's something I never want to do."

She turned her head to the side so she could catch my eye. There was a smile on her face, and it made her even prettier. "You did scare me," she said, "but I'm fine now."

"Good."

I could tell there was something else bothering her, but rather than trying to draw it out of her, I stayed silent and waited. If she wanted to tell me what was on her mind, I would let her speak on her own terms, and if not, well, that would have to be fine with me, too. I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. Not in one night, at least.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

She'd gone back to twisting her fingers again, so to calm her I grabbed the comb and went back to working on her hair. She uttered a deep sigh, and when she moved her head I realized that I could see her face reflected in the mirror over the dresser. Her eyes were closed, but she looked as far from calm as anyone could get.

"What is it, Callie?" I pushed gently. If she backed off now, I promised myself, I wouldn't push again.

"Are you sure he's dead?"

I nodded, and then did it again when she opened her eyes and stared into the mirror. I wanted her to see the certainty in my face, rather than just hearing the words.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Warren's gone for good."

"Okay."

There was still more, something hidden under her innocent question, I could feel it in my bones.

"Why d'you ask?"

She gave me a wry smile in the mirror, then said, "Because every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I'm afraid that the next time I open a door, he'll be standing behind it, waiting for me."

The comb happened to snag on a particularly thick knot then, and she yelped and reflexively grabbed at the back of her head. My fingers were already there, however, massaging her smarting scalp, and as her fingertips touched my knuckles she sucked in a breath and dropped her hand, as if she'd touched fire.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, ignoring her reaction as I continued rubbing small circles on her head. "I know you're afraid; hell, I'd be too, if I were in your place. But he can't hurt you any more."

"Promise?" she whispered.

I nodded again into the mirror as I finally untangled the last snarl, then carefully turned her to face me so I could slip the comb quickly through her bangs. When I was done, I looked deep into her gray-green eyes and said, "I promise."

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Okay, here's chapter 3! Got busy with real life, as the hubby had a 3-day weekend. LOL Anyway, hope you enjoy, and please, let me know what you think!_

_A note: This takes place some time after Dean goes to Hell. So, sometime in Season 4. I think Cas might make an appearance in this fic, later on._

_Also, this is the chapter where the language comes into play, I think. Good thing it's rated T! :)_

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 3

* * *

I know Sammy resents me sometimes.

I can see it in his eyes, in the scowl he has on his face when he thinks I'm not looking. It sucks, because I've never purposely done anything to make him resent me. In fact, everything I've ever done has been to his benefit, even if it meant that I got hurt in the process.

I'd even gone to Hell for him.

He was looking at me that way again, but once again I pretended not to see it. My eyes remained glued to the TV screen, my hand lightly resting on Callie's as I used the other to keep the cell phone pressed against my ear.

"What do you mean? How did it just 'disappear'?" I asked the man on the other end. There was a lot of stuttering, some apologizing, and then what sounded like a choked-off sob. I grimaced.

The guy on the other end was a wuss.

Huffing a sigh, I said, "Okay. We'll be down there to check it out. Seal off the room completely – no one goes in or out until I get there."

As I pressed the "end" button and tossed my phone on the bed in disgust, Sam caught my eye.

"What's up?" He asked, but I shook my head.

"Nothin'. Could I talk to you a minute outside?"

Sam nodded. He knew this was code for "I want to discuss something about our line of work with you, but the other person in the room would freak if they heard it," so he grabbed his coat and pulled open the door. I was about to follow him when Callie's hand tightened around mine, and she sat up on her knees on the bed.

"Where are you going? What's going on?" She asked, her eyes wide.

"Just outside with Sam. I swear, I'll be right outside the door."

"What's going on?" She asked again.

"It's..." I had been entertaining the thought of lying again, but found that I couldn't. _Oh, that wouldn't get old fast,_ I thought sarcastically, _especially in our line of work_. "It's complicated."

_There,_ I thought. Not a lie, but vague enough to keep me off the hook, at least for now.

Callie nodded and dropped my hand. "Okay."

I joined Sam outside, making sure to stay in sight of the window in case Callie got anxious.

"So what's up?" Sam asked as soon as the door had shut behind me.

"Warren's gone."

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"I mean," I sighed, "that his body disappeared from the morgue early this morning. Guy on shift says he went for a cup of coffee, and when he came back the table was empty."

"So, what? He got up and walked away? Dean, he had three bullet holes in his chest, and one of those went through his heart. There's no way he lived."

"Exactly."

Sam's eyes widened. "You thinkin' demon?"

I shrugged. To be honest, I hadn't really formed an opinion, and I told him the same aloud. "The worst part of this is, I just promised Callie that Warren was completely, absolutely one hundred percent dead."

"Well, technically he is."

I shot him my trademark irritated glare, but said nothing.

"So," he continued after a moment where all we did was stare at the pavement under our feet and kick at invisible rocks, "what're you gonna tell her?"

"The truth."

"Dean..." he warned.

I stared right into his eyes, and only just at that moment did I realize how much his eyes looked like our mom's. Not in color – hers were blue, while his are the same brown as our dad's had been – but in their expressions. She could manage to pull Sam's compassionate look one moment, then completely switch gears the next and stare down a biker without a problem. I'd never missed our mom more than I had right then.

"I have to, Sam," I told him. "She needs to know."

"About Warren, maybe, but not about what we do. You think she was close to breaking before? You tell her we hunt demons and ghosts, and she'll be in the back of a psych van in ten minutes flat. Either that, or she'll run."

I had considered that possibility already, but I didn't let him know that. "And what if we don't tell her, and Warren in all his undead glory comes for her, to finish the job? What do you think she'll do then, Sam? Start up a knitting circle with him?"

"You're not funny, Dean."

"I'm not trying to be!" I shouted at him. "I'm trying to tell you that the woman in our motel room was kidnapped, tortured and raped by this monster, and we have to find him and kill him, before he comes looking for her a second time!"

He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and shut it again.

"You ever been raped by a demon, Sam? Any idea of what that would do to someone like her? 'Cause I'm bettin' it ain't pretty. Suicide by rusty razor blade springs to mind."

Sam again moved to reply, but something over my shoulder caught his attention. His eyes grew wide, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. I knew what that meant – we'd been overheard. I let my head drop back and then slowly turned around, to see Callie standing behind me.

_Dammit_, I thought as I put on my apologetic/sympathetic smile.

"Callie," I said, even as I knew we were royally screwed. "How much did you hear?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Yeah, we were screwed big time.

"Warren's _alive_?" She screeched, and Sam and I both winced. Glancing around the parking lot, I saw a cleaning woman watching us, so I quickly ushered Callie back into the motel room. Sam followed behind us and shut the door, but only after shooting his reassuring smile at the maid.

"No," I finally replied. "Well, not really. I mean, he's upright and walking around, but..."

"We think Warren's body has been taken over by a demon," Sam explained after uttering a long-suffering sigh.

Callie stopped and stared at the two of us. I recognized the look she gave us all too well. It was the "are you two pulling my leg, or are you bonkers" look. We got it almost as much as those jokes I mentioned.

"Demons?" She asked, her eyes narrowed into slits as she pondered our sanity some more. "You two think demons are real?"

Sam nodded. "We know they are."

"How?"

"Because if they weren't, then we wouldn't need these," I replied, pulling off my shirt so that she could see the tattoo on my chest. Sam likewise unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled the fabric aside, to show her that he had a matching one, in the very same place right over his heart.

"They're anti-possession tattoos," I told her as we covered them back up again. "Keep us protected from demons trying to take over our bodies."

"But..." she stammered, still trying to understand, "I thought demons were just stories."

"Yeah, so did we," Sam grinned at her. "Until we came face-to-face with one."

Callie sat in silence for a moment, her hands planted on the bed on either side of her. Every now and then, she shook her head, and then she suddenly asked, "So, what is it that you do, then?"

Ah, so she hadn't heard quite as much as I'd thought. I turned to glance at Sam, who was still trying to convince me with only his eyes that I shouldn't tell her, and then turned back to Callie.

"We're hunters. We find evil creatures..."

"Like demons," she suggested, and I nodded.

"...and kill them. We keep regular people, like you, safe."

"Or, we try to," Sam added, still miffed but deciding to stop acting like it.

Callie nodded as if she understood, though I wondered how true that was. "And now Warren's missing."

"Right," I agreed.

"And you think he's coming for me."

I nodded again. "But we're not gonna let him near you."

She gave me a smile, and at first I thought it was genuine. But when she looked into my eyes, I realized that she was only humoring me.

"That's nice of you to say, Dean, but I don't know that you can keep that promise."

"Hey," I began, but she shook her head.

"Look, you must be pretty good at your job if you're still alive –"

_Oh, if she only knew._

"– but you had a hard time with him the first time. Now, correct me if I'm wrong – I'm a little rusty on my knowledge of the supernatural – but now that he's got some demon-thing in him he's even stronger than before. Am I on track, here?"

I huffed, while Sam answered, "Yeah."

"Okay, so, fill me in on just how you think you're gonna kill him."

I looked at my brother, and this time he openly shook his head. He knew just what I was thinking, and was silently telling me not to mention it. But what he neglected to understand was that I'm a stubborn man. Him telling me no was like a bright neon sign that said, "Go ahead."

So, I did.

"Sam's got this ability..."

"Dean," Sam warned aloud, but I ignored him.

"He can pull demons out of a person's body and send them to Hell."

"Dean, shut up..."

"Sometimes..."

Callie stopped me with a hand on mine, then turned to look at Sam. Her gaze seemed sympathetic, almost pitying. "It's okay," she told me while still watching his face. "I don't need to know any more. Maybe you can handle this, after all."

Sam looked relieved. I was a little upset that I didn't get to finish, but only a little.

"One question, though," she said, her head tilting to the side an inch or so. "Do you think he'll be able to find us here? Should we maybe leave and go somewhere else?"

I shook my head. "There's nowhere we could go that he couldn't eventually track us down. Demons have this network set up, all over the country. Probably all over the world, actually. If we showed up in, say, Oregon, any demons in that state would let Warren's demon know. And in less time than it takes to blink, he'd be there looking for us."

"So what, then? We just sit here and let him come?"

"Sort of."

Callie sighed and looked at Sam again. "I'm lost."

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, then met my gaze and shot me a look I knew all too well. _I told you this was a bad idea,_ his eyes said. _And now, you know exactly why_.

"Well, you might not like it," I told her, "but I've got a plan."

* * *

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: This chapter (and maybe the next?) is from Sam's point of view. I thought it'd be nice to have his perspective for a while. Enjoy, and please, all of you who are reading - I can tell you've been here - drop me a review and let me know what you think! I love feedback of all kinds, so please don't be shy!_

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 4

* * *

Callie sat on Dean's bed, her back rigid as she stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. I could see her hands trembling where they were in her lap, and for the hundredth time in a matter of moments I considered stopping this whole thing. She was clearly terrified, despite our promises to keep her safe, and I didn't blame her.

Dean's plan was reckless. I'd told him that at least twice, but he just waved me off both times. We had to stop using innocent people as bait; it was too close to that invisible line – the one that blurred the closer you got to fighting demons. Oh, sure, Callie had offered to fill the role herself, but it was Dean who'd made the final decision, even though I'd tried hard to veto it. He won out, though, because he's the older brother.

_"Dean's in charge, Sammy,"_ Dad had always told me before he left to go hunting. _"You do what he tells you."_ Well, I always thought that sucked. Dean was just as capable of making mistakes as I was, so why did his being older make it so that he got to have the final say? What if I was smarter?

"Sam," Dean's voice whispered over to me, and I only gave him the barest notice before turning back to watch Callie, "lights."

Again, my eyes flicked to the left, and sure enough I saw the reflection of a car's headlights dance on the ceiling over our heads.

"Callie," I called softly over to her. She turned to me for only a moment before remembering Dean's advice that she pretend we weren't there, and returned her gaze to the mirror.

"Yeah?"

"Warren's here. Remember the plan."

She gave a slight nod, but the hunter in me noticed the way her nostrils flared, and I could almost hear her pulse speed up at the mention of the man's name. Closing my eyes for a moment, I prayed that she would stay level-headed enough to pull this off.

She jumped reflexively when the door blew in, the knob slamming hard enough against the wall to leave a large dent in the plaster, and her head whipped toward the doorway, her eyes wide.

Warren – well, what was trying to pass as Warren, anyway – stood there, a fully creepy smile on his – its? – face.

"Ahh," he murmured, his voice sounding slightly liquid, as if he'd drowned rather than been shot a bunch of times. "I can see you remember me."

Callie sat still as he staggered over to her, his hands reaching out to caress her bare shoulders, but from where I hid I could see a single fear-filled tear roll down her cheek. I clenched my jaw, again wishing for this to be over with.

"I haven't forgotten you, either," the Warren-vessel nearly purred, his hand now stroking her dark hair, his fingers twirling in her curls. I chanced a look at Dean and saw that he was just as disgusted as I was. _Good_, I thought, scowling. _Maybe he'll realize how screwed up this plan was_.

"H...hello, Warren," Callie stammered, forcing herself to stay calm. "I...I thought you were dead."

Warren chuckled a throaty laugh, as if she'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "Thankfully, that loser Winchester only nicked my vessel. I was able to heal him easily enough."

Well, chalk up a point to us. We'd been right about him being possessed. Now, we just had to hope that the rest of this terrible plan worked out the way we'd meant it to.

"That's...good."

Warren nodded. "It is, indeed. Now, we get to finish what we started." He pushed on her shoulders, trying to make her lay down. My heart raced in my chest, but I refused to look away. We had to time this all just right, and I had to be ready for that perfect moment.

"No," Callie whimpered, trying to scoot away from him, her hands hesitantly reaching out to push him away. "Don't."

Warren pressed harder, and managed to knock her onto the mattress. Her hands were now furiously clutching at his tattered shirt, her face turned away from his grayish skin as he leaned over her. Every muscle in my body twitched, but a look from Dean stilled me. He knew how I felt, but we had to be careful, now more than ever.

I glanced down at my watch instead.

One minute to go.

Sixty seconds had never felt longer.

I turned my attention back to Warren. He had clasped both of Callie's wrists in one of his big, meaty hands, and was holding her arms over her head. Her torso writhed underneath him, still trying to evade his other hand, which was now sliding up under her tank top.

"Don't fight me, girl," Warren hissed at her then, his knee pressing both of her legs against the bed. She was completely trapped by him, and by the horrified expression on her face, I could tell she knew it.

I looked at my watch again.

Thirty seconds.

When she started screaming, my resolve disappeared like a puff of smoke. Dean had known it was coming and tried to stop me, but I ignored him. Jumping up, I threw myself onto Warren's back, shouting something I still don't remember at him. He had been so preoccupied with his intentions with Callie that he hadn't noticed that we'd been hiding behind my bed, waiting. Surprised as he was, he recovered quickly and tried to throw me off, but my arms were linked around his neck, my biceps squeezing his throat as hard as they could. It was just enough of a distraction that Callie was able to slip out from under him, and she scurried off the bed and behind Dean, who was now standing at the end of my bed. He swept his arm protectively in front of Callie, while I finally lost my grip on the demon and landed hard on my back, on the floor of the motel room. The wind got knocked out of me, and I gasped like a drowning man, but I managed to roll out of the way just before Warren's foot stomped my chest.

"Hey!" Dean cried then, and Warren stopped long enough to gaze curiously at him. "Who the hell are you?"

I think the demon made a smart remark, but I didn't hear it as I was trying hard to get my breath back. Callie was kneeling beside me then, her cool hand on my forehead. I could see her mouth moving, and by reading her lips I knew she was telling me to relax and not try to breathe too deep at first, but the blood rushing in my ears kept me from hearing her voice. Finally, the rushing sound died away, and I coughed as a lungful of air made its way through. She helped me sit up, her hand light against my chest, and then asked me if I was okay.

"Yeah," I rasped. Then, my brows knitting over my eyes, I asked, "What about you?"

"I'm okay," she assured me, though the way she had cut her gaze away from mine suggested otherwise.

"Give her to me!" Warren the Demon commanded then, and I instinctively pushed Callie behind me as we stood up.

"Not a chance," I growled back.

He started to move toward us, but then bounced back as if he'd hit a wall. Startled, he looked around at the three of us, and Dean smirked and pointed at the ceiling. We had painted a demon's trap above the bed earlier that night, and now it was effectively holding whatever was inside Warren captive.

"Nooo!" He shrieked, still staring upwards, as if he stared long enough it might just disappear.

"Do your thing, Sammy," I heard Dean say quietly. I knew he didn't like my special "ability", especially because of where – or rather, who – I'd acquired it from, but it was very helpful in times like this.

I closed my eyes, reaching out with my mind toward the creature on the bed. I felt around its consciousness, my mind probing like invisible fingers, looking for a crack, a chink in its defenses. I could hear the demon howling, its wails growing louder as I moved closer to my target. Images ran through my brain like a movie on fast-forward – pictures of the girls Warren had taken, of what he had done to each of them, how he had killed them. Disgust and rage roiled through me at this, but I forced myself to remain focused, detached.

As if sensing my anger, the demon pushed more images at me. I saw every evil thing it had ever done, beginning with its fall from Heaven and ending with taking over Warren, but I only concentrated harder on my task. At last, I pinpointed its weakness and stretched out my hand, as if I could tangibly grab the creature's spirit and pull it free of the vessel it was now inhabiting.

"You'll regret this, Winchester," the demon hissed, but I only shook my head and dug deeper. I felt, almost heard, something give way within the creature, and my fingers bent into a claw-shape as I continued to draw the demon out. It howled again, as if in great pain, and I sensed rather than saw Callie clap her hands over her ears, cowering behind me.

My head began to pound behind my eyes, and my chest felt as if something were pressing against it, crushing my lungs against my ribs, but I refused to loosen my hold. With a final hard mental tug, I yanked the demon from its vessel, sending it – hopefully – permanently to Hell. As the room stopped shaking, I opened my eyes and stared at the bed. There was a dark black spot where the demon had sunk away, and Warren's body lay sprawled across the spread, his eyes staring unseeingly at me.

"Well," Dean remarked as he took in the bed's appearance, "looks like we're moving out."

"Good idea," Callie's voice said from behind me, and I turned to check her over again. I refused to believe that she was unhurt from her ordeal with Warren, at least until I saw it with my own eyes.

"I'll go check us out," Dean volunteered, and I nodded silently before moving to start packing our things.

When he had gone, Callie nervously paced a wide circle around Dean's bed, her eyes never leaving Warren's limp form. Chewing on a fingernail, she walked back and forth as I threw clothes into our duffel bags, and when she could contain herself no longer she asked, "What're you gonna do with his body?"

I shrugged. "Call in an anonymous tip, probably, and then make sure he's in some random field a few miles from here. Local cops will find him and take him back to the morgue."

"And what about me?"

At that, I stopped packing and turned to look at her. "What about you?"

"What happens to me, now that this is all over?"

I glanced at the ceiling, again seeing the devil's trap. "You mentioned having a family."

Callie nodded. "Two sisters."

"Right."

She waited a moment, then, when I didn't get what she was trying to tell me, she explained, "Little sisters, as in the Big Sister program. They're not actually family."

"Oh." I must admit, that changed things pretty significantly. "Well, what about parents?"

"Both dead. Cancer for my dad, drunk driver for Mom."

"I'm sorry."

I didn't know what else to say.

She shrugged. "It's okay. It was a while ago. And," she added before I could reply, "no actual siblings, aunts or uncles. I'm essentially alone in this world."

I know how that felt. Well, kinda, as I still had Dean, at least. "Sucks."

"Yup," she replied, grinning. Taking a step toward me, she grew serious and said, "So, is there any chance I could ride with you guys for a while? Just over into the next state or two?"

I gave her a pained expression. "I don't know. Dean's got enough responsibility as it is..."

"She's coming with us," Dean's voice said from the doorway, and I jumped. I hadn't heard him come in.

"What?" I asked, even though I'd heard him just fine.

He ignored my question and finished packing the rest of our stuff. "Go open the trunk, we gotta get Warren outta here."

"Why?"

"Because that nosy cleaning lady tipped the cops off. They're headed down here right now."

I muttered a curse under my breath and grabbed the keys to the Impala from off the table, then ran out and popped the trunk open. I took an extra moment to spread the tarp on the floor of the trunk, then rushed back into the room. Dean already had Warren's left arm and leg in his grasp, and I went to the other side and grabbed his other two limbs. Callie had slung our duffels over both shoulders, and she wordlessly followed us outside, standing close by as we hefted the body into the trunk.

Dean slammed the trunk shut, then pulled open the rear driver's side door and gestured for Callie to get in. She slid in easily, dragging our bags with her, and Dean and I got into the car on our respective sides, with Dean in the driver's seat. He turned the key and the Impala roared to life, earning a smile from Callie. The flashing lights of at least four police cruisers were just showing up in the rear-view mirror by the time we'd gone about a mile down the road.

"Dean," Callie said, her voice low, and he flicked his eyes up at her in the same rear-view.

"I know," he told her. A second later, the car started to accelerate, and when I glanced at the speedometer it was topping out at 70. "Sam," he said to me then, "get the guns ready."

I started to argue, but the way he clenched his jaw made me stop. Instead, I nodded and turned around in my seat. On the back seat beside Callie was a fabric case, tied up with a piece of jute. I pulled one end of the string and then unrolled the case, revealing a small stash of weapons. I heard Callie's gasp of surprise, but she made no comment as I slipped two handguns out of the loops that held them, then rolled the case back up and tied the string into a bow. Turning back around, I pressed the button to open the glove box and grabbed a box of bullets. All the while, my eyes kept flitting to the side-view mirror, but so far there were no police cars chasing us. They might never chase us, but it never hurt to be ready, just in case.

We finally stopped again on the very outskirt of the town, beside a young cornfield, and this was where we laid Warren's body. I hated the fact that he was just going to lay there in the open, vulnerable to the elements, but when I remembered what he had done, it became easier to deal with almost by the moment. I could tell that it didn't bother Callie in the least. She murmured something like, "I hope you burn," just before she turned away and got back into the car.

Now, we were speeding down the highway, the only light coming from the Impala's hi-beams. Callie was dozing in the backseat, her head resting against the window, and Dean and I were trying to pretend that we liked the music coming from the radio. It was tuned to his favorite classic rock station, but the song was some lesser-known ballad that he obviously didn't care for. I didn't care for the station, much less the current song, but I played along simply because Dean's my brother. It's a sibling thing.

As the song faded into a commercial, I turned the stereo down to a murmur. "So, what're we gonna do with Callie?"

Dean shrugged. "Take her with us as far as we can."

"How far is that?"

"I don't know. Until it gets dangerous."

"For her, or for us?"

I was pushing buttons, I knew, but I couldn't help it. I needed to know just what we were doing, what the plan was. Or, if there even _was_ a plan.

"I don't know, Sam, okay?" Dean shouted, wincing when he saw Callie's form shift slightly in his rear-view. His voice lowered, he added, "I haven't figured that part out, yet."

"Well, eventually we have to leave her somewhere," I said. "She's not a hunter."

"I'm aware of that, Sam."

"Then why are we taking her with us at all? The next place we go could very well be the last place she ever goes."

He clenched his jaw again, and I knew he was trying hard to stay even-keeled. "I know that, too. Look, I'm not just gonna dump her in some backwater town, okay? Not after what she's been through."

"So are you telling me that you, Dean Winchester, feel sorry for her? That you feel somehow responsible for her?"

"Yes, I do. And to be perfectly honest, the fact that you don't worries me."

"I never said I didn't."

He shot me a look. "You implied it."

"Not really."

Dean sighed. It was a full minute before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice was soft, introspective.

"I won't abandon her, Sam. Right now, we're the only people she trusts, and I'm not gonna break that trust by ditching her somewhere."

I nodded. "Okay. So then what do we do with her?"

"Ask her to join you?" A female voice piped up then. I turned my head to the side, and saw her sitting up and looking back at me, her eyes bright as if she'd never been asleep. I wondered if she'd been faking the whole time.

"I, um..."

"Maybe teach her to shoot, to do what you do?" She continued hopefully.

"Dean?" I gestured for him to help me out.

He grinned at her in the rear-view. "Perfect. Whaddya say, Callie?"

"I say..." she looked at me and smiled, and I gave in and smiled back. "...bitchin'!"

"Oh, God," I groaned, shooting a weary look at my older brother. "She's like your twin."

He just chuckled and shook his head.

* * *

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Hi! Here's the next chapter! Hopefully, this part will explain why Dean's not opposed to having Callie join them as a hunter. This chapter is in Sam's voice again, at least in the beginning. It switches to Dean's and then back again, but I think you'll be able to tell when pretty easily._

_As always, enjoy, and please, please review! Oh, and thanks,** BranchSuper** for the reviews so far!_

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 5

* * *

Dean's got this way, this thing he does around women. What boggles me is, he doesn't even know that he does it. It just kind of shows up, and then he goes all cool and confident, and all the ladies just fall in line to be near him. Sometimes it's a real pain in the ass, especially when we're on a case and are supposed to be working. Dad's number one rule during a hunt was always "don't lose your focus." Well, when a woman was around, Dean could be counted on to do exactly the opposite. Maybe I'm just jealous, though. He always seems to get the girl.

Dean won't admit it, but he wants a relationship. He wants to have one woman, to settle down. And to be honest, I do, too. The problem is our line of work; it won't allow for us to just stop and live the American Dream. There's always one more bad guy, one more gruesome death to investigate.

One more demon to send to Hell.

When Callie first started riding with us, I was afraid that Dean would pull his Bad Boy routine on her. And why that would bother me, I don't know, as I had originally had no romantic feelings for her at all. Well, okay, so I might have felt something, but I chalked it up to Hero Syndrome – you know, when a guy rescues a girl and feels all big and tough and wants her to throw herself at him and kiss him...

Anyway, the more we started to train her, the more we realized that she had a knack for certain things, the most noticeable being her ability to sniff out when Dean was getting, uh, restless...and shut him down before he got started. She was never mean about it, though, not even when he slapped her ass one time while she was checking the Impala's oil. I thought she would deck him for sure, but all she did was stand up straight, look him straight in the eye, and then cock an eyebrow at him. He stared back at her, then dropped his eyes and – make a note of this, 'cause you'll never believe it – he actually _apologized_ to her, and then they went back to working on the car like nothing had happened. He never touched her like that again, though she did finally allow either one of us to stand with our arm looped around her waist sometimes. It wasn't a romantic gesture, either, but more a familiar one, like we'd been best friends forever.

It had been just over a month since we'd rescued her from Warren's cellar, and we were all camping out under the stars in New York. We'd decided to forgo the motel room, as the weather was so nice and warm, and so had pitched three tents at the edge of some farmer's back forty. Dean had salvaged a camp stove somewhere, so we didn't even need a fire, which was good because if we'd lit one out here we would've been caught in a matter of minutes. Because we were so far out in the country, there were hardly any lights, and so the sky was perfectly black, allowing us to see so many more stars than I'd ever realized existed. Callie was snuggled between the two of us, Dean on her right and me on her left, her hair tickling each of our noses. It smelled like coconut.

Suddenly, she pointed almost straight up and said, "There she is."

"Who?" Dean asked, following her pointed finger.

"Cassiopeia." She sat up, folding her legs underneath her. "She was always my favorite constellation, because she was easiest to identify."

Dean shrugged and muttered, "I still don't see anything."

Callie grinned knowingly at me, then asked him, "Do you want me to point her out to you?"

"No," he replied, getting up and dusting himself off. "I'm gonna hit the sack. Don't stay up late, you two."

I chuckled. "Yes, Dad."

"Shaddup," he waved good-naturedly, and tiredly, at me.

When he was safely tucked into his tent, I too sat up and asked Callie, "Which one is Cassiopeia?"

She smiled and then looked up again. "It – she – is the one that looks like a W. The W is supposed to be looked at sideways, though, 'cause it's Cassie's rocking chair."

I watched as she carefully traced the outline of a sideways-W, and a moment later had picked out the pattern of stars she meant to show me.

"I see it," I told her. "It's beautiful."

She nodded and then lay back down, so I followed her lead. I slipped my hand behind my head, and she shyly moved closer, resting her head on my bicep. Still looking up, she said, "I used to lay out in my backyard with my mom every night during the summer. We'd watch the stars, picking out constellations and wishing on falling stars, talking about boys and school projects and her work. I never felt like I had to hide anything from her while we were out there. Laying in the grass under the sky, we were more like best friends than child and parent.

"She would tell me stories about how she'd met my dad, about some of the dumb things she'd done as a teenager. We'd giggle over the crush she'd had on David Hasselhoff when she was twelve, or Shaun Cassidy when she was fifteen."

"Sounds like you have a lot of good memories with her," I said softly. Talking about her mom made me think of my own mother; her beautifully pale face drifted into my mind, framed by her golden ringlets, her blue eyes bright as she smiled at me. My chest began to ache, and I blinked furiously, pushing her image back into a corner of my thoughts.

"Sometimes, I lay outside and look up at the same stars, and I imagine that she's beside me again, whispering in my ear. You'd think that after that, I'd hate to lay out under them, but I don't. I love it. It makes me feel close to her."

When I was silent a little too long, she glanced up at me and frowned. "Sam? Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I'm fine. I was just thinkin'."

"About your mom?"

I met her gaze now, and asked, "How'd you know?"

"Dean told me a little about what happened to her."

"He did." I phrased it more like a statement than a question.

"Yeah."

"What else did he tell you?"

She sighed, thinking back. "He said that you were a baby when she died, but that your memory of her was so vivid even back then that when you saw her spirit as an adult, you recognized her at once."

I nodded again. The tightness in my chest came back with a vengeance. Callie seemed to understand this, as she propped herself up on her elbow and gazed down into my eyes, a sad smile on her face and her hand laid gently over my heart.

"He also said that he felt bad that you never really got to know her, as she was the best mom anybody could ever have. He feels guilty that he spent four years with her, and you got almost none."

"He said that?" I asked, surprised, and she nodded. "Wow."

Uttering a contented sigh, she lay back down on my arm and just stared up in silence. After a while, I started to think she had fallen asleep, but then her voice softly said, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

I nodded, feeling her hair brush against my chin. "Sure."

She was quiet for a long time before she murmured, "Promise you won't laugh?"

My brow furrowed, I nodded again. "I promise."

Callie leaned back up on her elbow. There was just enough light from the moon for me to see her eyes, and I knew that she must have been able to see mine as well. Her tongue darted nervously out and ran along her bottom lip, leaving a trail of moisture that lit up silver in the moonlight.

"Before I was locked in the cellar..." she sighed, gathering her courage, and then once more met my gaze, "I'd never...well, let's put it this way – I only had one boyfriend, and that was in eighth grade."

My eyes widened as I realized what she was saying, but before she could look away in embarrassment I slipped my hand against her jaw, my fingers curling behind her ear. My face serious as I looked at her, I said, "That's nothing to be ashamed of, Callie."

"It is if it's because everyone thinks you killed your parents," she muttered, her eyes finally cutting away to stare at the ground.

Puzzled, I pushed myself up onto my elbows and cocked my head. "Why would anyone think that? I thought your dad had cancer."

Callie nodded. "And there were witnesses that saw the crash that killed my mom. But some people in town still think I had something to do with it."

I wasn't sure my eyebrows could knit together any closer by then. "But, why?"

"Because they thought I was a witch." She must have just noticed my confusion then, because she gave me a sardonic grin and added, "I was really depressed back then, and so I started dressing in black and dying my hair and stuff. I guess people didn't understand what was going on with me, and the fact that my parents died within months of each other made them suspicious. The first day I went back to school after my mom's funeral, I found the words 'burn the witch' written on my locker.

"After that," she finished in a whisper, "no guy wanted to be caught anywhere near me."

Her whispered words pierced my heart, and I drew her to me, her head cradled against my chest. When she pulled away, I looked straight into her eyes and said, "I wouldn't have ignored you, if I'd known you."

That small admission seemed to comfort her. Smiling, she answered, "I know, and neither would Dean. For all his macho attitude, he's a big softie."

I chuckled at that, imagining my brother as a big, cuddly teddy bear. "Yeah," I said. "Dean's a real sweetheart."

* * *

I could hear them out there, speaking in soft tones and whispers. I knew they were tryin' to be quiet, but after so long on this job my ears were so sensitive that I could almost pick out exactly what they were saying. After a half-hour or so of me laying there with my eyes closed, but not sleeping, I silently shifted forward and carefully unzipped the flap of my tent just enough so that I could see them. I waited a breath until I was sure that they hadn't heard me, and then peeked out through the empty space. Sam was on his back, with Callie propped up next to him, her hand resting against her cheek. Her other hand was hidden from view at first, and I thought that maybe, something was goin' on out there. But then she shifted, and I saw that it was merely resting on Sam's chest.

She was looking at him, her eyes soft in the corners and a smile drifting across her lips. I knew immediately what that meant.

She loved him.

I felt a slight wave of panic ride over me. Relationships are never easy with us hunters. Any wrong move, a baddie gets the upper hand, and we're gone. Toast. It's why I couldn't be with Lisa. She had a nice, relatively safe life, and if I'd stayed with her that would've all changed. I couldn't put her in danger like that; she and Ben – her son – they were good people. Innocent people.

Not only that, but what would Sam have done without me?

Sam sat up suddenly and pulled Callie to him, his nose buried in that long hair of hers. When he spoke I could hear him just as clearly as if I were beside him.

"I wouldn't have ignored you, if I'd known you."

She nodded, and I could see the smile on her lips as she replied, "I know, and neither would Dean..."

_Damn straight_, I thought, though I had only the faintest idea of what they were talking about. Callie was a great girl, and she was turning out to be an even better hunter. Remembering what she had gone through at that dick cop's hands made me so angry my fists balled up inside my sleeping bag. Sometimes when she looked at me, frustrated from a particularly hard day of training, her tears on the verge of falling, I could once again see the girl we'd rescued from that cellar, and it nearly broke me. I like to think I'm pretty tough – hell, I'd gone up against Wendigos and demons and even a rugaru – but for some reason the way she had looked at me then, fearful and yet still willing to trust that we wouldn't hurt her, it tore down some kind of wall inside me. I wanted to protect her, both in the way I looked out for Sam and yet not. I needed to keep her safe, but more than that, I never wanted her to stop smiling. I made sure not to take it too easy on her during practice, but even so I still found myself reigning in my temper when she missed the target, settling for a growled, "Again," rather than the string of curses I normally would've let fly.

As I watched them, the two knuckleheads I'd told to go to bed forever ago, I realized that the way I felt for Callie and Sam must have been how Dad felt for us growing up. He was tough on us – had to be, with his line of work – but on those rare days when he had time to spend with us he tried hard to let us know he cared. He had hoped that, whether or not we went into the family business, we would grow up to be strong, able to handle whatever life threw at us. And he'd done good, in that respect. Maybe he'd made mistakes along the way, but he was only trying to keep his family safe for as long as possible.

Sam made his move then, and if he knew I was watching he would've killed me. But I couldn't help it; I felt strangely transfixed by the singular thought that someone like Callie was actually attracted to my hulk of a brother. Not that I wanted her for myself, no. She was pretty, but over that past month I'd come to see her more as a sister than anything else. A kid sister, in fact. The kind that tries to follow you everywhere and do everything you can do. Normally I would've thought that annoying, but not with Callie. Besides, she was completely head-over-heels for Sam. I'd figured that out the moment she'd begged him to take that ambulance ride with her to the hospital. That didn't bother me, either. I figured she'd be good for him, keep him sane and grounded. She was almost an entire foot shorter than he, but she had the withering glare down pat. If one of those looks found Sam's eye, he'd be done for.

In some ways, Callie reminded me of Jo Harvelle, only much more reserved than the loudmouthed blonde who had been Ellen's daughter, and definitely a quicker study. At least Callie was willing to learn from me, to quietly accept my impatience even while she made it clear that she wouldn't put up with my bullshit. Only she did it subtly, even nicely, without so much as a frown or a nasty word. Jo would've already kicked my ass from now to Sunday, and then ground her boot into my groin for good measure, but that wasn't Callie's way at all.

Jo. I missed that girl terribly. It wasn't fair that she'd been taken, especially in the way she'd been killed. Vampires, as the pun goes, suck. Ellen still wasn't talking to us, but I supposed that was how it should be. Just because she was a hunter's widow – and by extension, a hunter herself – didn't mean she mourned her loved ones any differently. If anything, it made her grief that much more fierce. She might go a dozen years before we heard from her again.

I know Ellen blamed us – Sam and me. If we had only gotten there sooner, "her Jo" – that's what she had called her last time we'd spoken, the same day she'd slapped me hard across the face and then turned her back on me – her Jo would still be alive. It was true; we'd gotten delayed in Texas hunting down a ghost, and by the time we made it to the Roadhouse, Jo was already gone. I carried the guilt of that night with me all the time, the pain of losing "our Jo" – that's how _I_ thought of her – threatening to crush my chest, to make my heart explode.

God, how I wished things had turned out different.

Sam's hands were on Callie's shoulders, and he was making that weird face he had when he was about to kiss a girl. I couldn't help but watch for a minute longer, as their heads moved uncertainly toward each other until their lips met. Callie's eyes closed and she made a soft sound in her throat, and Sam's hands moved up to cup her face, his fingers in her hair. Grinning, having seen enough, I scooted back into the warmth of my sleeping bag and lay down, my head pillowed on my arms.

_Atta boy, Sammy_, I thought as my eyes drifted closed. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have, because the next thing I knew, the sunlight was burning holes through my eyelids.

* * *

Callie had nudged me playfully with her elbow at my comment about Dean, and it was something in that small touch that brought my attention to her face. Her lips were turned up in a smile, her eyelashes wide as her eyes sparkled up at me. In the silver summer moonlight, her pale skin took on an almost angelic glow, and I found myself drawing closer to her, wanting suddenly to be as near to her as possible. My breath caught in my throat, I silently pondered whether I should keep going, if she would reject me, but when I saw her face likewise moving toward mine, I gently placed my hands on her shoulders, my fingers caressing the bare skin just past her tank top.

Finally, our lips met, and I watched in fascination as her hazel eyes slid closed. In that small gesture, she had shown her complete trust in me, and as I lightly swept my tongue across her bottom lip, I vowed to keep that trust safe, for as long as I lived. My hands moved into her hair, my thumbs stroking the soft skin of her cheeks, and Callie's tiny moan reached my ears just as another, even softer sound did. Slitting one eye, I peeked over toward Dean's tent and saw motion from within. I'd had a feeling that he wasn't sleeping, but I had no clue that he'd actually stoop to being a peeping Tom.

Suppressing a smile, I turned my full attention to the woman sitting before me, her lips pressed tightly against my own. When we finally pulled apart to catch our breath, she reached up and ran a hand lovingly through my hair, then trailed the backs of her fingers down the side of my face.

"Sam," she said then, her voice little more than a whisper, "you are so..." she cocked her head, searching for just the right word, "gorgeous."

I chuckled and leaned forward to press another kiss on her mouth. "So are you."

Now it was her turn to laugh, and she did, shaking her head at the same time. "If you say so."

Running my hand down her arm, I said, "You don't believe me?"

She laughed again, but I could tell it was a nervous giggle. "I think _you_ see me as gorgeous, yes."

"But you don't think you are."

Her laughter had all but disappeared now, and she peered at me with a serious expression on her face. "No. Not really."

Turning her around so that she was resting with her back against my chest, I took in her admission. Questions tumbled around my mind, but I sorted them into a semblance of order and cleared my throat.

"Why not?" I finally asked, and she shrugged against me.

"I don't see any sort of outstanding feature, anything that makes me amazing to look at. I'm just, normal."

I muffled a scoff and tipped my head back, looking to the stars for help. When a thought suddenly popped into my head, I dropped it down again and took one of her hands in mine. We both stared down at it as I said, "You have the tiniest hands I've ever seen. Your fingers are so slender, sometimes when I look at them I wonder how they can be so small and not be fragile."

She smiled, but kept quiet as I lifted her hand to my lips and carefully kissed one finger at a time. When I was done, I laid her hand back in her lap and then gently swept her hair off her right shoulder.

"Your shoulders seem normal at first, until you lift a gun in your arms, or raise your hands over your head. The muscles are beautiful – curved and bunched, but toned. You carry a lot of weight on them, but you never complain." Bending my head down, I kissed her bared shoulder, then combed my fingers through her hair. "Your hair is soft and shiny, and always smells like coconut, no matter what shampoo you use. It reminds me of my favorite beach, of swimming in the waves with my Dad and Dean, with the sunset just starting to spread through the sky."

Now, she let a soft chuckle escape and turned around to face me. I ran my fingers down her face, committing each dimple and freckle to the memory of my touch. "Your skin is smooth and clear. There aren't many women who can say that, not without plastic surgery."

I leaned forward and lightly pressed kisses on her face – one on her forehead, on each eyelid, her cheeks, her nose, and finally, her mouth. As soon as our lips touched again, her arms flung around my neck, and she kissed me so hard in return that I nearly lost my breath. At the press of her tongue on my lower lip, I opened my mouth and let it dip inside, tasting, running across my teeth.

_Whoa,_ my mind shrieked at me then, _what do you think you're doing?_ I'd thought that was pretty obvious, but apparently my conscience was having a tough time figuring it all out. _You can't get involved with her, especially now, _it went on. _Two hunters in a relationship are pretty much doomed to failure. Not only that, but she'd recently been through a great deal of trauma, and all of it was centered around sex._

Groaning, I reluctantly sat up and broke away. Callie looked hurt, and though I'd known that would happen, I needed to stop now, before things went too far.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her hand toying with the anti-possession charm Dean had given her.

"I..." I heaved in a breath, only then realizing just how deeply she'd affected me. "Callie, I...we..."

_Spit it out, Sam_, I commanded myself.

Her face in my hands, I gazed into her eyes. "I don't wanna hurt you."

She shook her head. "You won't."

"The things you went through..."

"...Were horrible. Yes, Sam. But you're not him. I realize that."

"You do?"

Callie nodded. "But, I understand why you stopped, and I'm okay with that, too." She leaned close to me, her lips at my ear. "Just promise it won't be our last kiss."

Struggling hard to control the urge to crush her against myself again, I nodded. "It won't be."

She gave me a warm smile as she stood up and moved toward her tent, satisfied with my reply. "Good," she said. When she was half inside her tent, she turned back to me. "Sleep tight, Sam."

"You, too."

After she'd zipped herself inside and got situated under her blankets, I lay back down on the ground and stared upward. The stars had moved slightly, but I could still pick out Cassiopeia, her starry rocking chair now just over my head. Breathing a deep sigh, I closed my eyes and replayed the past few hours in my head. The memory of Callie's lips on mine was the last thing I remembered before waking the next morning.

* * *

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Sorry this chapter took a while to go up. Life keeps getting in the way, and it's so unfair! LOL So, enjoy as usual, and please let me know how this grabs ya!_

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 6

* * *

"If that'd been a real fight, you'd have been killed. Let's do it again."

Callie glared at me, suddenly looking more dangerous than she had in the past two months. She lifted her right hand to the level of her chin, the blade of her "knife", which was really just a slightly-sharpened stick, pointing outward. Even though I knew we were just practicing, I still wasn't about to fight with real weapons. That's when accidents happen, and someone loses a few pints of blood. Or worse.

Callie's hair had been cut shorter – now just brushing her shoulders rather than the middle of her back – and she was leaner than before, too. Pursing her lips, she blew her bangs out of her eyes, never losing sight of my face. _So far, so good._ She was following the steps we'd taught her: never take your eyes off your enemy, keep your weapon up and ready at all times, and study your enemy for weaknesses.

"After this, when I pin you to the ground, I get a break. And a shower," she tacked on the end while pointing at me, and I nodded. We had been practicing for hours, trying to get her hand-to-hand combat as strong as her long-range tactics already were, and as a result the front of her tank top was soaked with sweat, her cheeks flushed. I'd taken my black t-shirt off and tossed it on the ground a while ago, the summer's humidity making it even hotter outside. Sam sat in the Impala, which we'd parked in the middle of this grassy field, his body sideways with his feet on the ground, his hands busy polishing a revolver. Every now and then he would raise his head and watch us, then smirk and shake it from side to side before returning to his task.

"Good idea," I retorted, wrinkling my nose jokingly, "'cause you don't just stink at fighting..."

Her eyes widened at that, and with a growl she rushed full-bore at me. Her stick-knife sliced downward, but as I had stepped back it missed my face by a few inches. When she had brought her arm down all the way, I grabbed her elbow and wrist and twisted upward. She cried out and dropped the weapon, but ducked under my arm and pulled herself free, at the same time pushing her foot into the back of my knee. I reflexively bent my leg to keep anything from actually being injured, and grabbed her inner thigh, squeezing the bundle of nerves there. Callie gasped, the pain sending her to her knees in the grass. Grabbing her hair, I tugged her head back so she was looking up at me, my dull practice knife now hovering a safe distance from her throat.

Callie stared up at me, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. My jaw clenched, I shook my head disapprovingly.

"Never lash out in anger," I told her, though I'd already said much the same thing about a dozen times before. "It makes you sloppy."

Something flashed in her eyes then, and her lips turned up in a sneer. "Speaking of which..."

Too late, I realized that she'd landed right where I'd made her lose her weapon, and she grabbed it and jabbed it up at me, faking a gut-stab. At the same time, she rolled away from me and stood up, then swung her fist at my jaw. I grunted as she made contact, sending blackness into my field of vision, and stumbled backward. Reaching out with both hands, she pushed me to the ground and then straddled my chest, her stick-knife held under my chin.

"You were saying?" She gasped, and I grimaced as a drop of sweat fell from her face and landed on mine.

"Okay," I managed, though my chest hurt with the force of hitting the ground, not to mention her hundred-twenty pound weight sitting on my lungs. "You've been paying attention."

She grinned good-naturedly at me and removed her weapon, then stood up and offered me her hand. As I took it and let her help me get to my feet, she caught Sam's eye and asked, "Did you see that? How awesome did that look?"

Sam smiled broadly while I rolled my eyes, my pride hurt. I'd been flattened by a girl, and one about the size of a pixie, at that. Caught off-guard or not, that crap stung. I picked up my t-shirt and shook it out with a rough snap, sending dry grass flying.

"It was great, Callie!" Sam called back, tucking the revolver back into its holder and then getting up to stow it in the cache in the trunk. "Nice work!"

"So," she said, turning to me, "I get that shower now, right?"

I nodded, still rubbing my chest. "As soon as we find a place to stay for the night."

She started to walk away, but I took her elbow and she stopped to look up, a question in her eyes.

"You're, uh, you're getting a lot better," I told her, my voice low. "I'm proud of you."

Something like awe crept into her gaze then, and she said, "You are?"

"You still need to work on a few things, like your temper," I grinned, letting her know I was half-joking, "but so far you're doing real good."

Callie's smile could've lit up the entire field. "Thanks, Dean. Coming from you, that means a lot."

As she got into the car, Sam came around to his side and looked at me over the Impala's roof. His head was cocked to the side again, but this time I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Something was setting his spidey-sense off, I could tell.

"What?" I asked, the hand I'd been about to use to pull up on my door handle frozen in mid-air.

"I..." he shifted uncomfortably, squinting as he tried to understand his feelings, "I don't know."

I continued to stare at him, but when his eyes suddenly squeezed shut and he gripped his forehead in his hands, I sped around the front of the car to catch him before he fell. Callie had likewise noticed his distress, and as I carefully lowered both of us to the ground she pushed open her door and dropped to her knees beside us, her eyes full of worry.

"Sam, what's wrong?" I asked, trying to pry his hands away from his face to look into his eyes. His breath was coming in gasps and sweat stood out on his forehead, and he kept his eyes screwed tightly shut.

"My head," he finally managed, his voice strangled as he forced the words out. "Dean, it hurts!"

"Okay. It's okay," I murmured, cradling his large frame on my lap as best I could as my hand ran through his hair. He pressed his forehead against my shoulder, as if the pressure would somehow lessen the pain, and I grimaced at the heat that radiated off of his skin.

"Dean?" I heard Callie ask. I glanced up at her, and she asked, "Is he gonna be okay?"

Nodding, I replied, "I think so. He gets these really bad headaches every now and then. They come on quick and then disappear a little while later."

She looked over her shoulder at the open passenger-side door, then back at Sam, who was now rocking back and forth, still breathing hard. Then, reaching down, she wrapped his arm around her neck and started pulling him up.

"What're you doing?" I asked her.

Not even slowing down, she said, "Getting him out of the sun. You wanna help?"

"Okay." As soon as most of his weight was off me, I stood up and ducked under his shoulder, and together we got him into the passenger's seat. I folded his long legs into place, then stepped back to shut the door, but when I turned I noticed that Callie had disappeared. Turning in a full circle, my heart in my throat, I called out, "Callie!"

As panic began to settle in, I suddenly spotted the dark blur of her black tank top moving through the trees at the edge of the field. A matter of moments later, she was back beside me, a sopping wet handkerchief in her hands. She held it up proudly, as if it were a trophy, but I just glared at her.

"What?"She asked.

"What?" I mimicked, my brows knitted angrily. "You can't go running off like that! You wanna get ganked by some creature out there?"

She regarded me silently for a while before turning to reach forward and gently press the cool cloth against Sam's head. At first he tried to push her away, not wanting anything to touch his skin, but she brushed his hands away and dabbed at his forehead again, and he soon relaxed under her touch. When his breathing had calmed somewhat, she softly murmured, "That wouldn't have happened. I was only gone a minute."

"That's all it takes!" I shouted.

Callie rounded on me, her hazel eyes snapping with electricity. Her voice low, she hissed, "Dean, stop yelling."

Furious, I could feel my face turn something close to purple. I almost lost my temper on her, but I managed to keep my mouth shut, and when I had calmed down a little, I ground out, "I don't think you understand just how dangerous this job is. You blink at the wrong moment, and it'll be your last move. I've seen good hunters killed because they dropped their defenses just for a minute. And I've seen others die because _I_ lost my focus for less than a second. I'm sick of losing people, Callie."

Sufficiently chastened, she dropped her gaze to Sam's face. "I know."

I wasn't done being mad at her, so I continued with what I knew would be the ultimate guilt trip. "I don't want anything to happen to you, and I know Sam doesn't, either. If you got hurt he'd be so torn up..."

At this, her shoulders hunched up to her ears, and I knew I'd succeeded in making her feel terrible. I felt like a monster for doing it, but she needed to understand just what was at stake, here.

"So the next time you feel like running off," I pressed on, "you'd better think long and hard about it first, because you might not come back."

She laid the handkerchief over Sam's forehead, her hand resting over it, and I could tell that she was trying not to cry. After a long silence, she softly said, "I'm sorry, Dean."

I took her shoulders in my hands and turned her to face me. A large tear had made its way down the side of her nose, and I brushed it away with my thumb. Her eyes were so big, like a doe's eyes, and her tears only magnified them even more.

"It's okay," I murmured, trying to show her through my eyes how true that was. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, but you scared the shit out of me."

She managed a watery smirk. "Better change, then."

I chuckled and pulled her into a hug. "You're a smart-mouth, aren't you?"

"Yep, and you love it."

This made me chuckle again. "You know it, sister."

* * *

Sam's POV

By the time we'd checked into our usual resting place – a grungy motel with a busted vacancy sign and too many dead flies in the windowsills – my headache had all but disappeared. As usual, Callie was in the shower, probably using all the hot water, and Dean was sprawled face down on the bed nearest to the front door. His feet moved as he pushed his boots off, and they landed on the shag carpet with a thud. He wiggled his sock-clad toes, sighing as his feet were freed from the confines of the black steel-toes.

"Anything on the radar?" He asked, his voice muffled by the pillows, and I shook my head even though I knew he couldn't see me.

"Not really. There might be a case in Iowa, but I need to do a little more digging before we head up there."

"What's it about?"

I scoffed. "What else? Demons."

Dean sighed heavily and stuffed his face back into the covers. "In the morning, okay?"

"Definitely," I replied, stifling a yawn. "I'm too wiped out to even think about sitting up in front of a laptop."

I only barely heard his quiet noise of agreement over the sound of the shower.

"We gonna do the usual sleeping arrangements?" I asked him after a short pause.

Dean nodded into the covers, then turned his head to look at me, only one eye open. "Unless you got a better idea."

I shrugged. "Not really."

"Okay, then. Enjoy the bed while you can," he replied, noticing that the shower had just turned off, which meant that Callie would be joining us soon.

Chuckling, I purposely stretched out as far as possible on Callie's bed, feeling the pull of sore muscles in my legs and arms. The pillows under my head felt so nice that I found myself closing my eyes, intending on resting for only a moment...

I jerked awake some time later, and felt my arm jostle something warm laying beside me. A person, I guessed by the way the sheets outlined the rise of a hip bone and, higher up, a shoulder. Confused, I glanced around the darkened room and heard Dean's light snoring in the next bed over. The person next to me shifted, and I caught the smell of coconut shampoo as Callie's arm slipped around my waist.

I was just about to attempt to slip out of the bed and settle into my usual position on the floor, when her head lifted slightly, and I knew she was fully awake.

"Is your headache back?" She asked in a whisper, and I shook my head.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was just resting."

The moonlight filtering through the window illuminated the side of her face, and I saw that she was smiling. "It's okay," she assured me, her hand moving to drift across my chest. "You looked so peaceful, I couldn't dream of waking you."

Her fingers ran down my abs, and I shivered despite the sultry summer evening's heat. "Callie," I began, my tone a warning.

She chuckled deep in her throat, and the husky sound was even more intoxicating than her touch. "Stop being paranoid and go back to sleep."

As if to prove that she'd had only the most innocent intentions, she turned onto her side, facing away from me. I traced the outline of her backside with my eyes, and shut my eyes with a groan. _Think about baseball,_ Sam, I told myself. _Fluffy puppies...the devil in a bathrobe...anything but where your mind is right now._

I grinned at the last idea and turned over to face the opposite direction, my back against Callie's. Shifting my legs, I felt her feet brush against my calves, and I gasped and pulled away again. Her feet were freezing, her toes like ten little needles of ice. I seriously wondered whether something could be that cold without actually having frostbite. It felt like she'd been soaking her feet in an aspen stream, letting the frigid water pour over her for hours.

I must have drifted off again soon after, but when I heard her crying in her sleep I immediately came awake and turned over. She was still turned away from me, her hands curled under her head. I cautiously reached out and laid my hand on her shoulder.

"Callie?" I whispered, and when she didn't wake right away I repeated it a little louder. She woke, gasping in a breath and then shuddering slightly as she exhaled.

It was a moment before her body moved, rolling over to face me. She was still sniffling, hitching breaths jerking her chest up and down.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She seemed to think about her answer and then, in the same small voice she got when she was very afraid, she said, "Are you mad at me?"

"What? No, of course not!" I replied, pulling her into my arms to prove it. "Why'd you ask?"

Callie's face pressed against my neck, her eyelashes fluttering by my jaw. Her breath was hot on my ear as she whispered, "I dreamed that you got mad, and then you and Dean left me alone here, in the motel."

She still sounded so upset that I was actually growing angry at her dream version of myself. Hugging her tighter, I kissed the top of her head. "We would never abandon you, Callie. Nothing you could do would make me mad enough to leave you alone."

"I know. It was just a nightmare." Then, she snuggled closer and murmured, "Just...please just hold me? I'm still scared."

I nodded and rearranged my arms around her, getting comfortable. "Sure." As I dropped another kiss on her head, I said, "Go back to sleep. I've got ya."

* * *

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: Okay, so this chapter is why I changed the rating. Heh heh. Things get a little hot toward the middle/end. It's funny...I've read TONS of Dean/OC stories, but there's precious little on my Sammy with an OC. Wonder why? Can't be because Sam's not hot, that's for darn sure!_

_Anyway, enjoy as usual! I hope to have the next chapter up pretty soon! :)_

* * *

Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 7

* * *

_Dean's POV:_

Callie cries out in her sleep a lot.

I pretend that I can't hear her, mostly because I know she wants it that way, but also because I just don't know what to do. I feel bad, but I can't make the nightmares go away, can't take back what happened to her. I wish I could, though.

God, I wish it so bad.

It usually starts with a series of quiet sniffles, maybe a toss of her head. Then, she falls silent for a while, and just when I start to drift off again she cries out a word or phrase, her voice full of fear. Eventually, she starts full-out crying. The sobs wrack through her like crashing ocean waves, jerking her whole body, and from where I lay, the blankets pulled up to hide my face, my heart squeezes tight in my chest. Every shuddering breath pushes at the dam of emotion within me, and each time I contemplate getting up and going over to her.

But I never do.

Frankly, I'm too scared to. I don't wanna hear her describe what she's afraid of. I already know it from the way she fights the covers, kicking and clawing at the sheets as if they're a living creature that's holding her down, trying to possess her. In the darkness, where I can barely see a thing and all I can hear are her cries and the rustle of the sheets, it's scarier than it sounds.

Sam always wakes up when she cries, and since they now share a bed instead of him killing his back sleeping on the floor, he is the one who comforts her. Sometimes he mumbles stuff to her, but most of the time he just grabs her wrists in his and pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. When he's sure she's not gonna claw his face up he falls back to sleep, and she usually drops off right after that.

Right now, it's pitch black in the motel room and I can hear her again.

Crying.

Begging.

Hands flailing.

Sam jerks awake, his top half springing up at a 90-degree angle to the mattress. He looks down and sees her freaking out, and a weary sigh escapes his lips. Rubbing a hand quickly over his face, he reaches down and clasps Callie's hands in his.

"Callie," he calls softly, then louder when she tosses her head from side to side, "Callie, wake up."

I lay perfectly still when he leans over and switches on the light, my eyes shut as if I'm sleeping. I think he knows I'm awake, though. He's a hunter; he can see that my breathing pattern's different than when I'm asleep, even with just a quick glance.

As the light snaps on, Callie's eyes fly open, and she gasps as if she's been under water. She struggles against Sam's grip, shrieking all the while. At this, I give up my ruse and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, confident that the chance for me to get some real, actual sleep is long gone. I just hope most of the other rooms are still as empty as when we checked in. We sure as hell don't need another nosy person calling the cops because it sounds like we're murdering Callie in here.

As I come to stand beside Sam's bed, I notice something about Callie's eyes.

"She's still asleep," I say to Sam then, and he gives me a skeptical look.

"How can you tell?" He raises his voice over the sounds she is still making as she desperately attempts to pull away from him. Frustrated, he gathers her whole body up in his arms and presses her to him, his hands locked together to keep her there.

"You used to have the same look in your eyes when you sleep-walked. Empty, kind of shell-shocked."

He shoots me another look – it's the one he uses when he learns something about himself he never knew and wonders why no one told him before – and then asks, "What should I do, then?"

"Nothin'," I reply with a shrug. "Just keep holdin' her."

He huffs, probably feeling out of his element, which in itself is weird since he has all the people-skills, and then turns his attention to Callie, who is still straining against him. He manages to keep her hands away from his face, though a few scratches are already standing out on his arms and chest. I turn my back on them and wander into the bathroom, once again glad that I'm not in Sam's place. I turn the faucet on and splash some water on my face, and over the sound of the water I can hear him shushing her, calling her name over and over like some kind of weird mantra. It's not until after I've used the facilities and am about to turn off the water from washing my hands that I realize that her shouts have stopped.

Peeking my head out around the door jamb, I see why.

Now wide awake, Callie's arms are flung around Sam's neck, her face pressed against his jaw, and his hands are rubbing up and down her back, comforting her. She's wearing one of his t-shirts as a nightgown, the hem of it reaching almost to her knees, but it's ridden dangerously close to the upper part of her thigh. Mentally, I slap myself. _Get a grip, Dean._

Hey, I can't help being a guy, okay?

"I can't go on like this!" She wails into Sam's ear, and I wince at the same moment he does, though he hides it by ducking his head and burying his nose in her hair. "I'm so tired, but I'm scared to sleep."

"I know," he quietly replies, moving a hand from her back to run it through his shaggy hair before resuming the slow up-and-down on her spine.

"I'm gonna get some air," I murmur to Sam, who angles his head around her to nod at me, a silent thank you in his eyes. He didn't need to thank me, though. I can tell when a little privacy is needed. There'd been plenty of times that Sam had done much the same for me, though most of those times I was doing much different things with a girl.

_Like Lisa_, my mind supplies for me, but I try to push it away. I miss her, but I have my reasons for staying away from her and Ben. Still, it hurts to see my brother with someone while I'm alone.

Pulling open the door, I take a last glance at Sam and Callie and allow that same self-pity to wash over me, then step out and shut the door after me.

* * *

_Sam's POV:_

Dean returned after a while, and went immediately back to bed. I could hear him snoring lightly on the next bed after a few minutes, so I turned the light off as a courtesy to him. Now that it was dark again, Callie clung even tighter to me, like she was terrified that I would disappear if she let go. Once more, she told me, "I'm so tired, Sam."

"I know," I said again. She wasn't the only one. If I had to take bets, I'd say that I was in the lead with most sleep lost, with Dean dragging behind at a close second. "We'll figure this out."

Her weight was sending my legs numb, so I started to shift out from under her. She let me get as far as setting her bottom half back onto the bed, but when I moved to stand, her arms tightened around my neck and refused to let go. The awkward angle I was bent at choked off my air supply, and I had to drop my knees back onto the bed and bend my head to ease the pressure.

"Honey," I said before my brain could register that my mouth was moving, "you've gotta let go."

"Don't leave!" she cried as I pried her arms off my neck as gently as I could, and I shook my head.

"I won't, I promise." I glanced at the bathroom door, where a flickering candle inside the room was pulling night-light duty. "I 'll just be in there for a minute."

Callie followed my gaze and nodded in understanding. "Okay."

I spent a little more than a minute in the bathroom, and when I came back out, Callie was sprawled out across the entire bed, her head resting on the crook of her arm. She noticed me as I walked back into the room, sitting up as I slid into bed beside her. My back against the headboard, I sighed and scrubbed a hand across my face, then wrapped my arm around Callie's shoulders as she shyly sidled up to me, her head resting on my chest.

"Feel better?" I asked her, and she nodded.

"I feel like an idiot, actually," she grumbled.

I chuckled lightly. "Why?"

"The lovely little freak-out I had, that's why. 'Oh, big bad Callie the hunter has terrifying nightmares that make her scream like a little girl.' How scary does that make me sound? How intimidating?"

"Callie," I sighed, my finger dipping under her chin to tip her face up. "Your job isn't to be scary, or intimidating."

"I wanna be. I don't wanna be scared."

"You don't have to be. We're here to protect you." I glanced over at Dean again, envious of the ease with which he had fallen into slumber. My voice lowered to a whisper, I turned back to her and added, "_I'm_ here."

She simply stared up at me, those big hazel eyes blinking wide in the pale moonlight, and I felt my control slip just a little. _Don't_, I warned myself, even as my head tilted down toward her lips. Callie held her breath, waiting, but when our mouths brushed she let out a sigh, her hand stroking across my chest. _This is a bad idea_, my mind said disapprovingly, but it was soon drowned out by the sound of my heart crashing against my ribs as Callie slowly turned herself so she was facing me, then moved until she was on her hands and knees over me, her lips still attached to mine. My hands, calloused from holding various weapons, slid up the back of her borrowed t-shirt as she moved, her satin skin catching against my rough palms. I felt her shiver, and it sent a ribbon of fire through my body, settling somewhere around the middle of my stomach. Her body was still moving, her tongue playfully circling mine. The now-tenuous grip I had on propriety loosened that much more, my fingers trailing heat wherever they touched her. Callie's mouth pulled away from mine, and as I panted, gaining back my supply of oxygen, her lips suddenly descended on my throat, nipping lightly across my Adam's apple.

"Callie," I breathed, my brain still trying to fight through the haze. I felt her shake her head.

"Shh," she whispered back, her tongue lapping at my lower jaw, just behind my ear. "It's okay."

"But, Dean..."

She stopped to look at me, and in the minimal light peeking through the curtains I saw a wicked smile slash across her mouth. "Dean's asleep. Now, shut up and kiss me."

Needing no further prodding, I tangled my hands in her hair and pulled her head to me, crushing my lips against hers. She slowly leaned back and I moved with her, my leg curling over her lower body. Heat built itself up in my gut as I tugged at her shirt, then doubled when she lifted her torso off the bed so I could pull the shirt off and I discovered that she hadn't been wearing a bra underneath it. Trying to keep my panting as quiet as possible, I dipped my head to drift my tongue first across one nipple and then the other.

Callie arched her back at the sensation, her hands pushing through my hair and then grabbing at my shoulders, pulling me level with her face again. Her lips parted, she thrust her tongue into my mouth as a moan escaped from her throat. My pulse was racing so fast then that I could barely breathe, and my groin was beginning to ache badly, the pull so strong it was almost painful.

"God, Callie," I groaned against her mouth, and she nodded quickly.

"I know," she whispered back.

"We have to be quiet."

Her eyebrow arched, and the playful grin came back. "I'll try, but no promises."

We made quick work of the rest of our clothes, stashing them at the bottom of the bed under the covers, and for a moment we just laid in each other's arms, making sure this was what we both really wanted.

"If I hurt you..." I began, but she cut me off with a finger pressed to my lips.

"You won't."

I couldn't have felt more comforted then. Rolling her onto her back, I rose up over her on my knees, my hands on the bed on either side of her head. Her legs twined around my waist, her heels pressing into my backside, drawing me closer, and her hands slid up on either side of my chest. My heart racing, I chanced a glance over at the other bed, and a pang of something like guilt passed over me, followed by a rush of adrenaline. I knew Dean was fast asleep and would likely stay that way, but the idea of what we were doing felt almost criminal. It was exciting, at once just as thrilling as a hunt and yet even more so. I wondered then if Dean had ever done anything like this, if he'd brought a girl back to our room while I was passed out. The thought disturbed me, and yet I still found myself strangely aroused by it.

Callie and I both gasped when I finally slipped inside her, but soon instinct took over and we began to move in a kind of rolling, back-and-forth rhythm. I watched her face as her eyes closed, focusing on the feel of my skin on hers, then drifted my mouth across hers, tasting her. Her body was so taut under me, her flushed skin almost feverish to the touch, and once more I found my gaze stealing over to Dean, making sure he couldn't hear us. At the same time, I kind of wished that he was awake. I wanted him to know that I could satisfy a woman as good as – or better than – he could. Maybe that's a weird thought – that I'd want my brother to see me have sex – but if people knew some of the things we'd done, both in our job and in our free time, that thought would seem pretty tame.

"Sam," Callie whispered against my shoulder before laying a kiss on it. "Oh, Sam!"

"Yes," I hissed through my teeth, the pull in my groin growing to a full out throbbing. "Yes, baby."

It wasn't long before her eyes flung open again, and she dragged my head down so she could push her tongue into my mouth, her moans muffled by our sealed lips. When she pulled away, she begged me, "Faster."

Wordlessly, I obeyed, speeding up our rhythm, and she tipped her head back, her mouth open in a silent cry. I took the opportunity to draw one of her hardened nipples into my mouth, and the result was instantaneous. Her torso lifted off the bed toward me, and I splayed the fingers of one hand against her back as her eyes widened as far as they could go. Her teeth scraped against my shoulder as a loud whimper escaped her, and I felt a rush of warmth from her core.

I kept up the pace, not slowing to let her catch her breath. Her hands gripped my shoulders, slipping as our combined sweat slicked her palms, while I pressed tighter against where our bodies joined. I could feel her muscles bunching under my hands, her body so tightly coiled, and I knew she was close to the edge.

"Wha –? Where...going...?" She panted as I suddenly drew away and began to slide lower on the bed.

I kissed her once, grinning, and said, "Shh. Just wait."

As I moved down, I took in each inch of her body; the slight concave of her toned stomach, the smooth, tanned thighs that still hung open, inviting me, the knobby angles of her knees and ankles, each part of her was breathtaking. I knew she didn't see herself that way, that she thought she was awkward and flawed, but all I saw was beauty.

And right then, I wanted to be her beast.

"Sam?" She asked, craning her neck to watch me, and again I shushed her. When I took her legs in my hands and laid each of them over one of my shoulders, her eyes grew wide, and as my head lowered and my tongue gently slipped into her pool of warmth, I could hear her moan, low in her throat. I increased the speed and intensity of my ministrations a little at a time, until my tongue was darting in and out like a snake's, flicking against the hottest part of her. Callie's breath quickened, and she stroked her hand through my hair a few times before curling her fist in it, holding me in place. Then, just before I was sure she was about to explode, she pulled my head up so she could see my eyes.

"Please," she begged, her whispering voice harsh in the silent room. I nodded, knowing what she meant, and resumed our version of the missionary position. Her arms wrapped around my back, she pressed her face against my shoulder, clinging to me as we moved together. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in rapid, hitching gasps; I could barely hear her over the blood pounding through my ears, a whooshing sound that made me instantly light-headed. And there was another noise...a soft, rustling sound nearby, followed by a muffled cough.

Too late, I realized what it was.

Dean.

I started to turn my head, to make sure I had really heard anything at all, but just then Callie tightened around me, her fingernails digging into my skin. The intense grip she had me in hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks, sending a searing white-hot blaze through my gut. Everything around us slipped away, my vision tunneled onto her face as she caught her lip between her teeth and whimpered, her hips slamming against mine.

"Oh, God!" I breathed as the fire coiled in my middle flamed into a blinding light, and my hands clutched at her waist as I rode out my release. Callie stared up at me, her hand splayed against my chest the only thing keeping me upright.

It was a few long moments before I caught my breath, but I felt myself holding it again as I chanced a quick glance at Dean's bed. From all I could tell, he was still sleeping, but it was too dark for me to be sure. _Oh, well_, I thought as I collapsed beside Callie, pulling her against my chest, it was too late, anyway. If he'd heard, I'd be sure to find out about it tomorrow, when he started up with the jokes and suggestive comments.

"Sorry," I heard Callie say after a while, and I frowned into her hair.

"For what?"

"I couldn't stay quiet." She flipped over to face me, that same wicked smile on her swollen lips. "You bring out the animal in me."

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" I heard Dean curse then, and Callie's lips pursed together. I could tell she was blushing, embarrassed that we'd been caught after all. I wasn't thrilled, either, but I'd figured something like this would happen.

Dean sat up and punched his pillow, his eyebrows knitted in a foul glare. His hair was sticking up in weird angles, and if he hadn't been giving me the death-look, I might've laughed. "Hearing you two go at it was bad enough. I don't wanna hear your kinky pillow talk, too."

Callie and I continued to stare at each other, and then we both burst out laughing. When we'd calmed down I looked back at Dean. His glower had gotten darker, so I said, "Sorry, Dean. We're...we're sorry."

Dean huffed out a sigh then and laid back down, but not before throwing one last punch at his pillow. "It's great that you're finally getting some, Sam, but seriously? While I'm sleeping in the same room? It's weird, dude!"

Callie chose that time to quickly disappear under the covers. Her body formed strange angles with the sheets as she shimmied around, and when she reappeared she was dressed once more in my t-shirt and her boy-shorts. Pressing a silent kiss on my lips, she slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

When the door closed behind her, I sighed and flopped back onto my own pillow.

"Dean, I said sorry. It's just...she's..."

"Hot. I know."

Now it was my turn to knit my eyebrows. "Dude!"

He sat back up again, and his silhouette shrugged. "Kinda hard to miss, Sammy."

I started to comment, but decided against it. Instead, I said, "Anyway, it won't happen again."

We both knew that was a lie, but neither of us would admit it. And somewhere deep down, I was glad he'd heard. It wasn't all that different from porn, I reasoned, and Dean watched that shit all the time. Of course, it wasn't his brother up there on the screen, banging a blond chick with boobs ten sizes too big to be real, but still.

"Just..." he said then, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "don't hurt her."

"Never," I swore.

I knew it was a risky promise to make, especially given the work we did, but I couldn't stop myself. I would ride a pack of Hell-hounds to the pit before I let anything happen to her. I knew Dean was being protective because he cared for her like a sister, but with me it was much more.

I loved her.

* * *

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: *sighs* So, guys, I know you're reading this. I can see it in my stats. If you're liking this story, leave me a note and tell me so. If you hate it, leave me a note. If you've got a question or critique, please...well, you can figure out what I'm gonna say, right? The worst thing a reader can do to a writer, even if it's as "lowly" as fanfic, is not give feedback! I need to know!_

_Once again, thanks **BranchSuper** for the lovely reviews! The rest of you, please let me know what you think! :)_

_PS...Apparently Dean's got a tiny kink goin' on in his cute little brain. Who knew? LOL_

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Finding a Monster

by scarlet79

Chapter 8

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_Dean's POV:_

So, here we were in Iowa. I have to say, it's probably the most boring state in the whole country, and that's saying a lot as we'd been to Montana, and let me tell you, the most interesting thing there was a festival dedicated entirely to strawberries. And I can't even stand strawberries. I once ate a bowl of them and then spent an entire night throwing them back up. I can't even _think_ about that devil-fruit without gagging.

Sam was in the front seat with me, but I could tell from the way he kept looking back at Callie that he really wanted to be with her. I suppressed a groan and forced my attention on the road ahead of us. Yeah, I'd heard their little "encounter" a few nights ago, and it had seriously grossed me out. It was like walking in on your parents, only more disturbing, if that's possible to imagine, because there was nowhere for me to go. I couldn't very well back out of the room or anything. Well, I guess I could have gotten up and left, if I'd wanted to...

And there was something that disturbed me even more – that I hadn't really hated it all that much. That it had kind of turned me on. _What the hell's wrong with me?_ I wondered as I turned the radio up louder, as if I were afraid Sam would somehow suddenly gain the ability to read my thoughts. _Sam's my brother, and Callie...well, she might as well be family. How could it possibly be normal for me to enjoy hearing their...nighttime activities?_

_Dean, _my brain – hopefully the normal part of it, anyway – said then_, you're such a freak._

I nodded, unable to dispute that fact.

Sam caught the motion and looked at me, crinkling his forehead questioningly. "Dean?"

"Nothing," I replied, too quickly. "I was just diggin' the song."

Now, his lip curled in disbelief. "Dude, for real? Lady Gaga?"

"Uh," I stammered, my face turning red as Callie leaned forward, chuckling.

"I thought you said she sounds like a cat in a blender," she commented, her arms draped loosely around my neck.

I tried to change the subject by lifting my eyes to the rear-view mirror and growling, "Sit back, Callie."

"Why?" She argued. "The road's been empty for miles."

"Because this road curves up ahead and if I need to stop fast you'll go through the windshield," I replied. It was true, but I was confident enough in my driving skills that it probably wouldn't happen. I just didn't want her so close to me, her head pressed near mine. My thoughts were so loud that I was sure they would work their way over to her, and she would recoil from me in disgust. Completely illogical, and deep down I knew that, but that's how the Dean-brain rolls.

Callie stuck her tongue out at me but sat back, her arms folded across her chest as she glared holes into the back of my head.

No one spoke, and for a long while the only noise inside the car was the radio. I tried to tune it to a classic rock station, but the only one I could get in without a butt-load of static was the pop music station, so eventually I shut it off and we drove in silence.

It took about an hour for Sam to get fidgety, and he risked a glance over at me. "Um," he began, "I was wondering if you wanted the details now, since we've got a while before we hit Marion?"

I nodded, glad for the distraction our newest case brought. "Sure. Shoot."

Sam grabbed his book bag from between his feet and brought it onto his lap, digging inside for something. A moment later, he pulled out a sheet of plastic filled with various photocopies and clippings of news articles, followed by his 4x6 notebook. Flipping the book open, he scanned through a few pages, then tapped the paper with his finger.

"Okay. So our latest victim is Sherri Plummer. She was eviscerated, then dismembered and packed into a couple different duffel bags. Her body – well, the pieces – were discovered in a garbage dump three days ago."

"What makes you think it's a demon, and not just a sicko human?" Callie asked, her hand instantly reaching for her necklace, her fingers clutching at the charm.

Sam huffed out a sigh. "Well, possibly because of the way her house was found." He pulled a photo out of the protective sheet and held it up for both of us to see.

The floor and furniture in Sherri's house - living room, by the looks of it - were all shredded, claw marks running in vertical lines down each surface. Papers littered the space, likewise shredded, and on the wall under the stairs, a Devil's Trident had been painted in blood. _Probably hers_, I mused.

"Looks like someone was having fun," I said aloud.

Sam nodded as he put the photo away. "She's the fourth person to be found in the same manner, with each victim's house being similarly destroyed."

"Any similarities between victims?" I asked, following our usual line of thought.

"Three women, one man. One woman African-American, two Caucasian. Man's age was 38, two of the women aged in their 20's, and one aged 52. Obviously all different hair- and eye-colors."

"In other words, no," I grouched. I hated it when he drew things out rather than giving me the short-and-sweet. "How about associations, friends..."

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't seem to be any."

Callie leaned forward again, and I considered shoving her back. After a seemingly-mind-reading glare from Sam, I gripped the steering wheel tighter as she said, "Maybe _that's_ the connection."

"What?"

"The fact that everything's so random. Maybe the demon or whatever does it on purpose."

I met her eyes in the rear-view, openly showing my confusion, and she rolled hers before explaining.

"People are creatures of habit, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, with her so far.

"Okay, so according to all the books you've made me study, a demon inhabiting a person's body can't change that person's nature all that much."

"Meaning?" Sam asked, though from the way he was looking at us, I could tell he was closer to understanding things than I was.

"Meaning that it has to follow a certain amount of that person's quirks, in order to keep from being discovered. You know, to blend into daily life. So, say the demon feels the urge to kill. He – or it – knows that the police, and eventually _you_, will be looking for a connection, for a way to figure out whose body it's using. In order to keep itself hidden as long as possible, it goes out of its way to make sure that the victims it takes are completely random."

"But why the dismemberment?" Sam wondered aloud, though now his eyes were scanning the news articles he held on his lap, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrated. "What drives him to chop them up into pieces, when he clearly leaves traces of him behind at their homes?"

Callie shrugged. "Maybe it's a kink in whatever body the demon is wearing."

My eyes flew to the mirror again. "Whaddya mean?"

"Well, again, demons don't usually possess unwilling subjects. Too much fight that way. They like easy targets."

Sam nodded. "Right."

"Then maybe the person this thing is living in already has...tendencies. Urges. Maybe he'd already killed before, in the same way, and the demon just ran with it."

"Hmm," I said, considering the idea. "It's possible, I guess. Something's bugging me, though."

"What's that?" Sam asked as he shoved the papers back into his bag and dumped it onto the floor.

"What – besides the rush of killing, I mean – is this demon getting out of all this?"

The car fell silent for a while as each person contemplated that question.

Finally, Sam shrugged and suggested, "Maybe that's all there is. The rush."

I doubted it, I mean doubted it so hard that my gut almost felt sick with my disbelief, but I kept quiet. We had two hours to go on this trip, so there was plenty of time for one of us to come up with the right answer.

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_Callie's POV:_

Watching the brothers from the back seat of the Impala was a rare treat, one that not many others beside me had ever experienced. I was able to witness so much more than they showed anyone else outside the car. Their fights, their apologies, even their goofiness – everything was laid out and open, for better or worse. I felt privileged to be a part of it all, even though at the moment Dean was treating me like I wasn't there. That was okay; I chalked it up to the fact that he was still weirded out by what happened a few nights ago. Truthfully, I was weirded out, too, but I figured after a few days we'd both be able to move on again.

In everything they did, Dean was the quintessential older brother. Protective, a little bossy, but ultimately looking out for Sam's best interests, he bore the responsibility with little complaint. Sometimes, late at night when Dean was driving and Sam was sleeping, I faked like I was asleep and cracked my eyes half-open, just watching him. I saw the way his hand tenderly brushed Sam's hair off his forehead, the care in his eyes as he gazed at his little brother. My heart ached as I watched, understanding not for the first time that _that_ – that sibling affection – was what I had been missing all these years.

And Sam, well, Sam always tried hard to make Dean proud. He truly looked up to Dean, figuratively speaking, and so when he made a mistake it made it that much more heartbreaking, because he really didn't mean to do it. He also held in his emotions a lot, trying to be tough like Dean, but I could tell when Sam was ready to collapse inside. He was drawing close to that point now, laying in my arms in the back seat while Dean stretched out in the front. His grip was tighter on me than usual, and he had said less than two words since Dean had pulled over and suggested that we sleep in the car.

Looking down, I stroked my hand through his soft hair and murmured, "Sam?"

His gaze flickered up to my face, registering that I'd called his name, but he didn't answer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he finally replied, knowing full well that I didn't buy his answer.

"Sammy, please. Tell me."

He stared unseeingly at the interior roof of the car for a while. My hands squeezed his fingers, twined with mine, and he let out his breath like a balloon with a slow leak.

"I've got a bad feeling," he admitted.

"About this case?"

Sam nodded.

"You told Dean?"

He shook his head.

I looked out the window for a moment, considering my next words carefully. I didn't want to push him – he tended to shut down when he felt cornered – but if he knew something important, he needed to say so.

"What's your gut telling you?" I finally asked.

"That something's gonna happen to you."

Well, I hadn't really been expecting that. I thought maybe he'd tell me the demon would get away, or claim a few more victims before we trapped it. It certainly cleared a few things up, though.

"Nothing'll happen to me, Sam. You and Dean will be right there with me."

"I know, but I can't shake it. I've been feeling it since...well, the other night," he finished awkwardly, and I nodded.

"That's why you wanted to stop – not because Dean might hear us, but because you didn't want to fall in love with me only to have me drop dead."

Sam managed a smile. "Not the most romantic way to put it, but yeah."

"Aww," I cooed, pulling him closer and drawing our hands to my mouth so I could kiss his palm. "You're so sweet."

"Do you two ever stop?" Dean's voice grumbled from the front seat, and a wicked thump landed against the leather from his side in the general direction of our heads. "We totally gotta start getting separate rooms."

Now, Sam grinned widely and poked his head up to gaze down at his brother. "Dude, we're in the _car_. Where'd you want us to go, the trunk?"

Dean's hand slapped at Sam's head, but he ducked before it could connect. "If it's soundproof, then yeah."

Sam chuckled as his brother groused, "Look, it's three-thirty AM, and I'm literally brain-dead right now. So, if it's not too much trouble, it'd be great if I could have at least two goddamn hours of quiet!"

I winced as his shout echoed throughout the close quarters of the Impala. I know he tried hard to control his temper, so when he actually lost his cool it was kinda scary. It was like his cork popped, and all his bottled emotions just poured out before he could stop them.

"Sorry, Dean," I murmured, my eyes locked on Sam's. His gaze softened from the jovial look he'd been wearing to one of guilt, and he tipped his head to the side in a kind of "oops" gesture.

A heavy, long-suffering sigh emanated from Dean's position, and then he said, "It's okay. Goodnight."

"G'night," Sam and I chorused, and I heard Dean scoff quietly. Sam found a comfortable position, and from the squeaking of leather I guessed that Dean was doing the same. I closed my eyes, listening to Sam's heartbeat under my chest, and drifted off to sleep, feeling safer than I ever had in my life.

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_Dean's POV:_

The walls of Sherri's house had been kept the same as in the crime scene photos, but the papers had been cleaned up and the furniture removed. I led the way into the main room, noting the signs of forced entry on the front door, and once our happy trio was all inside, Sam wandered off into another room, his notebook held open as if he were actually gonna take notes.

Callie stayed with me, tugging uncomfortably on the hem of her blouse. "Do you really dress up like this, or is this some kind of hazing for the newest member of the team?"

I chuckled. I'd actually considered making her buy an even more ridiculous outfit, but then changed my mind. I'd seen her retaliate for a dirty prank, and I really didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. "Don't worry, sweetheart," I said as I pressed my fingertip to one of the painted designs on the wall. "We gotta look the part, and that means suits and ties. The whole nine."

"Well, this sucks."

"Yeah, well it works. The cops outside didn't even blink when we flashed our FBI badges. They never do."

"Still..." She pouted and looked down at her feet. "These heels are killing me, and I've only been wearing them for an hour."

I tuned out her whining. My finger came away sticky, a thick blob of dried blood at the end of my nail. From the the texture of the blood, I guessed that it had been sitting there, slowly drying, for no more than a day or two.

"Weird."

Callie glanced up from the photo she'd been studying. "Hmm?"

"Sam said Sherri was found three days ago, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, something's up, here," I muttered. Moving around her, I stepped into the hallway and peeked into the first room. It looked like a bedroom, though the bed and dresser had also been removed. All that remained were the typical froufrou curtains chicks always seemed to put up, and a small bedside table with an unplugged alarm clock on top of it. The closet door was slightly ajar, and a stupid joke from our childhood surfaced in my mind.

_When is a door not a door? When it's ajar. Ha ha, what a knee-slapper._

"Sam?" I called into the room, though I could clearly see he wasn't there. The walls of this room had not been graffiti-ed with the trident, but I guessed that since the mattress had been taken, the bed was probably where she'd been killed.

"Yeah?" Sam's muffled voice replied from somewhere further down the hall. I ducked back out and checked the next doorway, which happened to be the bathroom, and was likewise empty. I did notice, however, that the mirror had been broken. The medicine chest now had an empty rectangle on its front, and I guessed that whoever had cleaned up the rest of the house had swept up the shards and tossed them. As with the bedroom, though, there were no symbols painted anywhere inside.

Since the door on the right at the end of the hall was the only one left, process of elimination told me that this was where Sam was. Either that, or he'd been somehow sucked into a parallel dimension. That wouldn't have exactly surprised me, either.

"Whoa," I said as I walked in. "What is this?"

Sam had been crouched down, his hand tracing some pattern on the floor, but when I came in he stood up.

"Some kind of ritual room, maybe?" He guessed. "I'll have to do a little asking around, but it looks like Sherri was into some major voodoo."

"Hmm.."

He caught the tone of my voice and asked, "What's up?"

I showed him the dried blood on my finger. "If Sherri was killed over three days ago, then why is this pretty near fresh?"

"How near's 'pretty near'?"

"A day, two max."

His brows knitted together. "So, lemme get this straight. Demon-possessed guy kills Sherri. He cuts her up and dumps her, and then decides to come back here two days later to finger paint on her walls? That doesn't make sense."

"_Wall_."

"What?" He blinked.

"Didn't you notice? The only wall that has that stupid Devil's Trident on it is in the living room."

"Okay," he shot me a skeptical look. "So possessed-guy kills Sherri, then disposes of her body and comes back to paint a Devil's Trident on the living room wall with her blood, a day or two later. That makes even less sense, Dean."

"Tell me about it," I muttered. "Something's not adding up."

"How sure are we that the blood is Sherri's?"

"Well," I drew the word out as I thought about that. "I was working off the idea that the design was painted at the same time the woman was murdered. But now that we know that's not true...not really."

"Okay, well, when we go to the morgue, we'll take a sample with us, see if the local cops can ID it."

I nodded, and we went back to studying the pattern on the floor in silence. A moment later, Sam's head snapped up and he stared at me.

"Where's Callie?"

"Out in the living room."

His eyes went wide. "You left her alone?"

"Sam..."

He pushed past me, worry etched into his face. I trailed after him as he sprinted down the hall, and nearly ran into his back as he skidded to a stop. I squeezed around his large frame, and my heart skipped a beat at what I saw.

A man was holding Callie against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat and her feet lifted off the floor. Her hands clawed desperately at his, trying to draw air into her lungs, and tears spilled freely down her reddened cheeks. When she saw us, she struggled even harder, her eyes pleading with us for help.

Following her line of sight, the man turned around.

"Ah, at last. The Winchesters," he said, grinning as his eyes flickered from brown to the full black of a demon. "I knew you would come."

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_TBC..._


End file.
